The Mother We Share
by IseultLaBelle
Summary: Feeling lost and pushed out of her family unit, Chloe embarks on a journey to uncover the other half of her heritage. When a confrontation with Evan and months of self-harming finally push Chloe to breaking point, and it falls to Ange and Dom to pick up the pieces. But as Chloe's activities of the past week come to light, both of them are forced to face some uncomfortable truths.
1. Chapter 1

**This story has been rather a long time coming. I never planned on getting hooked on Holby, but Ange and Chloe's relationship is just so interesting, and I wish the writers would explore it more alongside throwing Dom into the mix. So I've been thinking about writing this for weeks, but I couldn't come up with a title at first. Originally, I wanted to pick a title from Scottish folk music, but I couldn't find anything that quite fitted. This story was actually very, very nearly called Auld Lang Syne, which you may be familiar with- Auld Lang Syne translates from traditional Scottish to 'once upon a time.' I then stumbled upon Karine Polwart's version of The Mother We Share, and it just works perfectly for Ange, Chloe and Dom. The original is by the Scottish band Chvrches, and it has that melancholy feel to it Scottish folk does, but it's definitely more mainstream. It's from Karine Polwart's Scottish Songbook, and you can find it on youtube if you want to listen. Absolutely optional, but it might help get you in the mood!**

**This is the first time I've tried to write anything for Holby, so reviews would be massively appreciated. Constructive criticism/suggestions/things you would like me to include also welcome! **

**-IseultLaBelle x**

**Chapter 1**

_Never took your side, never cursed your name_

_I keep my lips shut tight_

_Until you go._

_And we've come as far as we're ever going to get,_

_Until you realise, that you should go._

The ventilator clicks loudly, methodically, bringing harsh, mechanical interruptions to the painful silence of the side room off the ED intensive care unit.

It feels as though it's been hours and hours, but it can't have been, he tells himself. He shudders, so caught between intently focused and completely and utterly zoned out, disassociated, thoroughly in shock and survival instinct kicking in, that he's lost all true sense of time, trapped in a living hell so far from anything he could possibly have imagined just a few short months ago, back when he was still an only child, back when he still had just the two parents, just the one mother, back when it was all so simple and this isn't happening, this can't be happening, not like this…

It can't have been hours that he's sat here, watching intently as all his hopes of a miraculous recovery his medical training tells him perfectly clearly won't come are crushed by the ventilator again and again, the lack of a struggle, the complete and utter dependency upon the machine.

It can't have been hours, because she isn't out of theatre yet.

She's still in theatre, still in blissful ignorance, and he's lost track of time completely in the moments he's spent trapped here in limbo but sooner or later she'll be finishing up, sooner or later someone will have to tell her, get her down here and her world will shatter, he knows it will, how could it not…

Have they done the right thing?

This is one of those situations, Dom considers numbly, one of those awful situations in which perhaps there isn't a 'right' thing at all, not really.

They were faced with two choices, after all, and neither of them were pretty.

They could have pulled her out of theatre, rushed in there armed with a back-up plan, someone, anyone, to take over and got her down here as soon as possible, but she would have been right at the crucial stage of her laparoscopic colon resection as it all unfolded and he'd thought about it, he really had, debated it with Essie and Sacha but in the end, they had decided that approach would only make it worse.

She would have panicked, then. She would have known it was serious, devastatingly so because why else would they pull her out of theatre, put her patient at risk like that? She would have panicked, but what if she hadn't immediately, what if they hadn't been able to persuade her out of theatre at first, acting upon minimal information besides their anxious instructions? They would have been forced to tell her the whole truth of it, and that would have ended in disaster; what if she hadn't focused during the theatre handover, what if something had gone horribly wrong? She would have had that hanging over her, too, held herself responsible, and what if…

What if they got it wrong? Dom panics. What if they got it all wrong... because they didn't count on this scenario, admittedly, not quite like this, not when they made their decision to say nothing for now, to attempt to manage it all themselves and fill her in post-surgery. What if there have been further developments by the time she finally makes it down from theatre, what if she's too late, what if it's all over and none of them can even offer her an explanation as to how it happened, not one that doesn't open a Pandora's box of questions, each more uncomfortable than the last?

What if she's already slipped away by then?

What if it's all too late?

He's out of his depth.

The still form lying in the hospital bed beside him is his own flesh and blood, and yet he doesn't have a clue how to handle it, how to help, how to do anything.

He should know. Instinctively, he should just know; isn't that supposed to be how it works? It should be as simple as his family need him, surely, no one should have to tell him but he should know, instinctively so, he should be able to handle this, hold things together until the third of their number finally makes it out of theatre and he can stand down a little, hand over responsibility and watch and learn, because this is his family, for god's sake.

This is his mother and his sister and it shouldn't matter that he hadn't even known they existed a few months ago. He should know what to do, he should just _know_, but all he can make sense of is the medical side, the desperate nature of this situation they're in now, the sats monitor reporting rock-bottom blood pressure, and they'll have to wait for the bloods to come back from phlebotomy to confirm it for definite but it's not as if they don't all already know exactly what this is.

Four in ten.

How can the odds be only four in ten?

He's only just found them. They've been in his life a mere matter of months and they've wasted most of that with one rift after another between them, he's barely had a chance to get to know them at all and if she slips away now…

If that happens, he'll lose them both.

Dom is almost certain of that.

Painfully, he lifts his gaze, glances back to the still form in the hospital bed beside him.

Can they survive this? Can the two of them left behind struggle on if she…

Except he isn't included in that, Dom decides, shakes himself furiously, all of a sudden suitably embarrassed and ashamed that he even dared imagine he was properly part of their little unit of two.

This isn't about him, not really. He can be there for them, try his hardest to pick up the pieces if she… if that should happen, but this isn't about him.

This is about Chloe and Ange, just the two of them, pure and simple. And yes, it hurts, but he has no right to dwell on that, Dom reminds himself, no right to feel pushed out, not in these circumstances.

They need each other. The two of them, Ange and Chloe, he can't… for all their disagreements over the last few months- his fault, most of it; he sees that now, but Dom doesn't particularly want to think about that, not when it could all end like this.

It _can't_all end like this.

It just can't.

She'll be out of theatre any minute. She'll be out of theatre and blissfully unaware, she could have moments left before her world is turned upside down and he just wishes he could do something, anything, wishes it wasn't all so hopeless…

How did he miss it? How did they all miss it- hell, how did she miss it? She must have known. She's a surgeon, for god's sake, she's not stupid, she must have known what was happening to her, all it would have taken was a quiet word with one of them, any of them, weeks ago, a trip down to the ED after her shift, even, and all this could have been avoided, she would have been fine, right now she'd probably be operating herself and the world wouldn't be crashing down...

He knew something was wrong. He knew something was wrong and he was so concerned with maintaining the delicate, wings-of-a-butterfly-like strands of a blossoming relationship between the two of them again that he had pushed all his concerns to one side somewhat- those concerns, at least.

They've all been preoccupied with the wrong thing. They've all been so busy worrying over the obvious that they missed this entirely, should have pushed her harder, should have frogmarched her into a cubicle and dealt with it weeks ago, they should never, ever have allowed her to reach this point…

The door creaks open, and it's a slow, gentle movement, apologetic, almost, but still it catches Dom so completely by surprise after goodness knows how long of nothing, absolutely nothing but the sound of the ventilator masking the faint bleeping of the heartrate monitor that he jumps at first, momentarily startled, because she's just so still, because he's been watching her carefully for the last few minutes and she's just so horribly lifeless and pale and limp and hopeless, it's been all-too-easy to forget that the rest of the world has kept on turning.

Alicia Munroe from the ED stands in the doorway, smiles, compassionate, fights to hide her sympathy but it's written all over her face- and it's bad, Dom realises.

This has gone beyond now.

"Hey. We're still waiting for her wound secretion test," Alicia explains apologetically. "So no formal confirmation yet. But her bloods just came back and her kidney function is extremely low, which…

"Which explains the edema." Dom closes his eyes.

"Yes," Alicia agrees carefully. "Yes, it explains the rapid onset of the edema. So we're going to get her started on dialysis in the meantime, that should reduce the swelling relatively quickly."

Dom closes his eyes.

"I'd like to get her upstairs for a CT, once we've stabilised her. And I think we need to inform her next of kin at this point, given the…"

"She's in theatre, we thought about it earlier, before… before she went downhill, we thought it was best we wait until she finishes up before we…"

"No," Alicia tells him gently. "She's in Aberdeen. Her next of kin is down as a Peigi Godard…"

"Ange's mother," Dom says quietly.

He's never met her, of course. Peigi Godard is just a name brought up in a fragment of conversation, one night while Chloe was away in Iceland, back when they were getting to know each other at their own pace, relaxed, finding their way, back before it all went so horribly wrong.

He's never even seen a photo. She's his grandmother, she's going to be frantically booking a train ticket- maybe even a flight, come to think of it- can you fly from Aberdeen? This is his history, his roots, it's in him, and he doesn't even know if Aberdeen has an airport… is he even from Aberdeen? Is there any connection there at all- Ange clearly isn't, wrong accent, too harsh, too Glaswegian, but what about his grandmother? Did she grow up there, move back some years ago, was it a post-retirement relocation- is she even at that stage in her life? He knows nothing, doesn't even know how old she is, knows only a name, and Ange has hinted to him that her mother was practically his primary caregiver at times during those first six months before he was surrendered for adoption, but he doesn't _know_, not really.

Peigi Godard is going to be turning up in a total panic in the next few hours, summoned down to Holby with a call from the ED and she won't know him, he won't know her, Chloe and Ange will need her and where does that leave him? He'll be redundant, cast aside, not properly a part of their family unit and he really should leave them to it once he's no longer the only one who can be here but he doesn't know if he can bring himself to leave her, not like this.

She could still crash.

She could crash, and it could all be over in moments because while they've managed to resolve her breathing with the ventilator, if this is really what the ED team think it is, what all the signs are pointing towards…

They should have got her out of theatre. They've got it all wrong and they'll never be forgiven, he'll never be forgiven, shit…

"Okay," Alicia says gently, pulls him back to reality. "I think we need to call her. And yes, I know what you're going to say. But Peigi is her next of kin, she needs to be informed at this stage. We'll know more after the CT…"

"You're thinking she's at risk of a stroke, or liver…"

"It's something we have to consider given the state of her heart and her kidneys, yes. She's stabilising now, we'll know more after the CT and the wound secretion results. We'll keep monitoring her for the time being. It might help if you talk to her, Dom," Alicia tries. "She's not sedated, she's just on high levels of…"

"I…" Dom shuffles awkwardly, shakes his head. "I wouldn't know what to say. It's… it's complicated, I didn't even know I was adopted until a few months ago, and ever since then things have just been… her mum will be here soon, I don't know what I'm doing, really, I'm just staying with her until someone else can… her mum…"

"Okay," Alicia sighs softly. "Okay. If that's what you think is best. I'm going to book her in with CT, make a call to Peigi. I'll be back to reassess her later."

"Alicia?" Dom calls, as she moves towards the door. "Has there… do we have an update on the whole… the…"

He's hesitant to say his name, just in case Alicia is right.

"The… security situation," he forces out at last.

Alicia nods. "There are security guards all along this corridor, outside the ED entrances as well. He's not getting in here, Dom. She's safe. You're all safe."

He waits until Alicia is gone, door closed behind her, slowly, cautiously, reaches out for the still, pale hand resting downturned on the bedsheets, swollen, skin mottled, distorted, but even the lightest pressure leaves indentations in her wrist from the edema and he doesn't want to hurt her, lets go abruptly, drops her hand back down.

Nothing.

Dom isn't convinced she can hear him at all.

He watches her for a while but she's just too fragile, a pale, china doll they've all let down so badly, too busy worrying about everything else that they missed that they missed this right in front of them and it's only making it worse.

He almost can't bear to look at her when she's like this.

He gives up, pulls her notes from the stand at the foot of her bed, and perhaps it's prying, but he's a doctor, he's family, surely it isn't so bad? He works himself into a panic over her obs, over the bruising patterns, the ribs, the little things they all should have seen but didn't, tries and fails to make sense of the unpronounceable jumble of letters listed after her first name on the front of her notes beside her NHS number and her date of birth (Scots Gaelic? It has to be Scots Gaelic, surely; did he have one of those, once upon a time, was it lost to history with his new birth certificate post-adoption?), encounters the Crohn's Disease he hadn't known she had and the anxiety diagnosis he did but the ad hoc medication he didn't and suddenly it all feels like a horrible intrusion, throws her notes aside as though he's been burned, glances back across to her still face and if anything she just looks worse, closes his eyes, winces, can't get anything right and he doesn't know what to do, he just doesn't know what to do…

There's a sudden flurry of activity in the corridor outside, and then the door is pushed open with such force the whole room seems to shudder, and she's standing in the doorway, shell-shocked, face white, eyes red-rimmed, trembling, and she's not looking at him, not really, realised he's there but she's too focused on the fragile life in the hospital bed, just about clinging on, struggling desperately to process it all.

He doesn't know what to say.

He feels as though he should say something, but there are no words, nothing to make this better, nothing to take away the pain he knows she must be feeling, insurmountable, far more devastating than his, nothing he can say to even explain how this managed to happen while she was trapped in theatre, oblivious, and he should have been looking out for her but he just couldn't stop it…

She beats him to it.

Rooted to the spot, she shudders, panic and pain and desperation in her eyes, almost as though she can't bear to run to her, to accept that this is really happening, and suddenly, Dom feels redundant, because the answer was in front of him all along, the only word that needed to be said and she locates it, sums it all up because this is all that matters now, her universe shattered to pieces and nothing either of them can do to stop it.

"Chloe," Ange whispers.

It was always about Chloe.

_Come in, misery, where you can seem as old as your omens,_

_And the mother we share_

_Will never keep your proud head from falling,_

_The way is long, but you can make it easy on me,_

_And the mother we share _

_Will never keep our cold heart from calling._

_-The Mother We Share, Karine Polwart, Karine Polwart's Scottish Songbook. _


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Dom doesn't know what to do.

It's been more than half an hour since she first appeared, and Ange has spent it in its absolute entirety sat in the chair at Chloe's bedside he'd vacated as she entered the room, strokes her hair, murmurs words of gentle reassurance so softly Dom can hardly make them out, rubs at her hands, her wrists, her shoulders as though all her medical training has left her in the midst of all her panic and she truly believes she can single-handedly do the work of the dialysis Chloe is hooked up to a few minutes after she arrives and reduce the edema, makes the tiniest adjustments to her pillows, fusses over her like Dom has never seen before- and she fusses over Chloe at the best of times, Dom reminds himself.

Even under normal circumstances, she treats Chloe like she's fragile. Perhaps he notices it now because of the complexities of their relationship as a not-quite unit of three, blows it out of proportion a little; Dom isn't sure. But with Chloe, there's constant physical contact, constant care and affection, constant worry or interference or attentiveness or whatever she seems to deem necessary in that particular moment, regardless of whether or not it actually is, and with him…

None of that with him. Nowhere near to the same extent, at least, absolutely no comparison, and it sounds so awful now, in light of everything that's happened, the dire situation they're in now, but god help him, he's jealous.

He's been jealous ever since he's known. He's jealous that Chloe is the one who is quite evidently the centre of their mother's universe, that Chloe is the one for whom everything must be perfect, that Chloe is the one she fusses over, offers to bail out with solicitor fees, endures Japanese food for (and even after a few short months, Dom knows there's nothing Ange hates more than raw fish and tofu), takes on spontaneous holidays, that Chloe is the one she drops everything for when she needs it and even when she doesn't, that Chloe is the one she'll always put first and she's not even apologetic about it.

Hell, he's jealous that perfect Chloe is the one Ange kept.

That sounds so completely selfish and awful, now.

She's his little sister. Half-sister, admittedly, but even so- and besides, does Chloe prefer it with or without the prefix? He's never actually asked her which of those two options would soften the blow, latched onto half-sister early on and he's been using that ever since, or whenever she's endured his company long enough for him to refer to her as anything, at least (and that hasn't exactly been frequently).

He's never really thought about it before, but has he been making it all worse, digging the knife in a little deeper every time he's referred to them sharing just the one parent? Dom supposes he thought that perhaps it might feel a little less as though he was imposing himself upon her, muscling his way into her family if he included the half, maintained the distance between them a little, but perhaps he got it all wrong.

Chloe doesn't have another half to her heritage. He has his adoptive parents, however badly he and his father might have struggled to connect, however atrociously he's messed up his relationship with Carole. And then he has his birth parents, has Ange, and even though he knows next to nothing of his biological father, wouldn't even know where to begin if he wanted to try to track him down based only upon the little Ange knows of him herself, at least he does know he was a decent human being.

What does Chloe have?

Nothing but Ange and the knowledge that the other half of her DNA was a complete and utter monster, that's what.

Has he been reminding her? Does she prefer to think of herself as purely a product of Ange's parentage, Ange's genetics, has he been shoving it in her face that there's more to her than that every time he's put his foot in it with the half-sister line?

He's never thought about it before. Ever since Ange told him how Chloe was conceived, he's been so obsessed with how being adopted and Ange being his birth mother affected him that he hasn't stopped once to think about how the knowledge of her own parentage must have affected Chloe- must _still _be affecting Chloe.

All this time he's labelled Chloe as the one of them who has been behaving like a spoilt child, convinced that she's the one refusing to consider how he might be feeling about all this, making it about her when she should be appreciating how hard this has all been for him and him alone and welcoming him into her family. But never once has he stopped to think about how she might be feeling, not really, not beyond the surface-level shock, placating Ange and her concerns over telling Chloe when deep down he saw it all as yet another example of how the world had to revolve around his over-indulged little sister.

It can't be easy. Living with the knowledge that she was conceived through… through that.

Does Chloe look like him? Does Chloe know if she looks like him? What must that be like for her; she must have wondered if she's inherited his colouring, his features, his mannerisms, if Ange can see him when she looks at her, whether it's constant or whether it's fleeting, sporadic, but very much there… there's potential for that to become agonising, surely, for it to tear her apart…

Is that why Ange fusses over her the way she does?

Is that why the panic attacks, the self-harming… is that how it all started? It would make sense… Ange must have broken the truth of it all to Chloe at some point in her teenage years, surely, once she was old enough to understand… shit. He's such an idiot. He's been making it all about him, the way he always does, Ange was right…

Of course she's protective of Chloe; how could she not be? She's protective of Chloe because Chloe came from _that_, because Chloe has to live with that knowledge, because despite everything he's having to learn to accept regarding his own parentage, for Chloe, it's all just so…

Is that why she did it? She had to have known she was playing a dangerous game, it would have been perfectly clear to her she needed medical attention… was it all a part of the self-harming? Was she doing it deliberately, or was she just putting it off because she couldn't face it, didn't get around to it… surely, she couldn't have been so stupid…

Has the self-harming been about him, about the differences between them and all he represents?

Chloe…

She's his little sister. She's his little sister and she's unresponsive, lying in an intensive care bed and who knows if she can hear them, riddled with infection and Dom doesn't need her wound secretion test results back to know exactly what this is.

There's no other explanation. He knows it, Alicia and the rest of the ED team treating Chloe know it, and Ange clearly knows it or she wouldn't be reacting like this, wouldn't be practically glued to Chloe's side, so preoccupied with her youngest child that she seems to have forgotten Dom is there altogether. This is as bad as it gets, less than fifty-fifty odds of her pulling through this and it didn't have to be this way, if only someone had noticed before it reached this point, shit…

She's his little sister. And he barely knows her, has messed things up with her and drifted away spectacularly over the last few months, but she's still his little sister and this could be it. He could get exactly what he's wanted for months, ultimately, just him and Ange again, the way it was when Chloe was away in Iceland with Evan and everything had seemed so different, so _perfect_, somehow; how can he possibly live with himself if he gets exactly what he wants in the end but it happens like this…

"When were her obs last taken?" Ange's voice cuts through the cold, clinical silence of Chloe's hospital room, and she's been so totally fixed upon Chloe ever since she arrived that her finally acknowledging him takes Dom almost by surprise.

"What…? Oh, I… sorry… Dr Munroe was here right before you arrived, one of the nursing team took her obs right before that…" he stammers, can't read his mother's expression because she hasn't even looked up, stroking Chloe's hair instead. "Why, do you…"

"I think her temperature's dropped." Ange presses the back of her hand against Chloe's forehead, watches her face anxiously. "They should be keeping on top of her obs better than this, if they think she's… she could be at increased risk of pneumonia, for all we know, if she needs the dialysis she's almost certainly in shock, she could…"

"I'll go and get Dr Munroe," Dom tells her quickly, springs up from his position leaning against the wall, decides even if he was confident Chloe isn't deteriorating, that the ED team are on top of her symptoms, now isn't the time to be arguing with her. "You're right, we should… given we're almost certainly looking at…"

"Don't say it!" Ange cuts him off, overprotective, full-on mother tiger. "Don't say it, I don't want her to hear."

If this isn't the moment to point out that she's being the relative from hell, giving doctors everywhere with family members admitted to A and E a bad name, Dom reasons, then it certainly isn't the moment to suggest to her that if Chloe can hear them, revealing to her that there's almost certainly something wrong with her they don't want her to know about is hardly going to put her mind at rest. They've already mentioned the dialysis in front of her, after all, and the possibility of pneumonia; Chloe isn't stupid. Whatever the reasons for the state she's in now, she'll have noticed, she'll have known she's been in need of medical attention for days, maybe even weeks.

There's no point trying to hide it from her; Chloe has to know what this is, but at the same time, Dom can completely understand why Ange is so reluctant to accept it.

Accepting it raises a whole new set of painful questions, and it's perfectly clear that she isn't ready for that.

Not yet.

"Okay," Dom agrees quietly. "Okay, I'll go and find someone, tell them you're worried, I'll be back in…"

The sats machine bleeps in warning, blood pressure falling again.

"It's alright, sweetheart," Ange murmurs, places her hand gently over Chloe's. "I know, Chloe, I know, it's alright." Momentarily, she looks up, glances across at Dom and back down to Chloe again, despair in her eyes. "The edema's still awful…"

"But she's only been on the dialysis half an hour or so," Dom reminds her gently, doesn't like to agree with her, to admit that yes, he's worried too, that Chloe's features are so swollen with fluid from her kidneys shutting down that she's almost unrecognisable, and he can't recall ever seeing it happen quite this quickly before. "She was in a bad way, when she collapsed…"

"How did we miss it?" Ange asks quietly. "This has been brewing for weeks- it must have been, if she's this bad now, how did we…"

There's a gentle knock at the door, soft, hesitant footsteps outside.

"Sorry… I… I've got Chloe's phone," Nicky forces out awkwardly, pushes the door open just a crack at first, red-rimmed eyes reveal she's been crying, waits for Dom to open the door the rest of the way from the inside as though seeking permission to proceed. She holds the object out to Dom along with Chloe's bag, clothes draped over her arm and balancing her trainers in her free hand, clearly thought better of disturbing Ange. "She left it at the admin station on Darwin, she's had a few missed calls, I thought someone should probably bring it down for her. Even if… sorry. Sorry, and I… I've cleared out her locker, I just thought… well…"

"Thanks, Nicky," Dom says quietly. "Do you think you could... sorry, I know you've got to get back to work. But do you mind grabbing Dr Munroe on the way out, we're just a bit worried about Chloe's temperature…"

"Of course. Of course, on it," Nicky assures him, hovers in the doorway for a moment, expression a picture of contemplation, trying to decide if she's going to make it all better or worse with whatever she's considering saying next. "Listen… we're all thinking of her. Sacha told us. If there's anything we can do…" she trails off, and it's only then that Dom realises she's been actively avoiding looking at Chloe.

"Thank you, Nicky," Ange says shakily, doesn't even look up, gently turns Chloe's forearm instead, takes in the bandage, silent for a moment, struggling to accept it. Because she knew, Dom realises now, that's what makes this particular part so hard for her. She knew from the moment Chloe all of a sudden started coming into work with a long-sleeve thermal underneath her scrubs and still she hasn't been able to do anything to stop it, none of them have…

Chloe…

It seems to take them both a few moments to realise the door has closed, and they're alone again.

"Shall I…" Dom begins awkwardly, hesitates, begins to think better of it, can't quite predict how Ange will react. "Shall I… I don't know if you want me to check her phone… or if you want to check her phone, since Nicky said…"

"I suppose we should get it over with, shouldn't we?" Ange agrees, holds out her hand, eyes don't leave Chloe's face but it's perfectly clear to Dom she isn't about to let him check his sister's phone. "It'll be Evan. The bastard, we can't get a restraining order on him fast enough…" But her expression softens as she takes in the notifications on Chloe's phone screen, closes her eyes, drained.

"Not Evan, then?"

Ange shakes her head. "No, it's… it's my mum, I think she's tried Chloe's phone because… well, she's texted to say she's on her way down, she'll know Chloe won't be using it if they've called her and explained the situation, but I haven't checked mine since before I went into theatre. She might be trying to contact me, perhaps she… I don't know, perhaps she thinks I'm more likely to be checking Chloe's phone, or something, given… given everything."

"And she's Chloe's next of kin?"

"Yes. Yes, she's Chloe's next of kin." Ange doesn't elaborate. "I'm going to have to call her back, she's going to be worried sick…"

Dom nods. "Of course. Do you want me to…?" He gestures to Chloe, unsure if it's the right thing to do or not, but Ange shakes her head firmly.

"It's alright. Listen, I… we will have that conversation with her, Dominic, I promise we will, but right now really isn't…"

"No, no, of course," Dom covers quickly. "Of course, that's fine. I understand. Not a problem."

The truth is, he feels as though he's being crushed inside a little all over again, but now is most certainly not the time to admit it, Dom shakes himself furiously.

It isn't about him right now. It's about Chloe. Chloe is the one everything has to revolve around just now; of course she is, she's the one practically at death's door, dangerously ill with suspected…

Dom knows all that.

So why does he feel so pushed out, so affronted?

Silence falls between them, the steady droning of the connecting video call the only sound, and then the call connects, crackly background noise at first and then the screen is filled with the face of a woman, late sixties, perhaps, early seventies at a push, long grey hair, some kind of crystal around her neck, boho, hippy-esque.

She's the spitting image of Ange, Dom realises, strange sinking feeling in his heart, and perhaps he's beginning to understand at last why Ange has made this about Chloe, all of it, ever since they knew.

"Angel?" the woman on the phone screen calls out urgently, heavy Scottish accent obvious even over the poor connection. "I've been trying to call you, I couldn't get through. The hospital phoned, they told me everything, I'm on my way down there now. I managed to get a last-minute plane ticket, I'll be four hours or so. How is she?"

"She's…" Ange stammers, and it's as though her mother's voice has offered her the reassurance, the support she needs to finally surrender to it all, eyes fill with tears, lip trembles. "She's…"

"Are you with her now?" Peigi Godard asks, voice surprisingly level, though Dom suspects full well she's holding it together for her own daughter.

Ange nods shakily. "We don't know how much she's aware of…"

"Nonsense, of course she's aware. You don't give up that easily, do you, Chloe?" Peigi peers at the screen, and perhaps she notices Dom lurking in the corner of her granddaughter's room, perhaps she doesn't, but either way, she doesn't acknowledge him. "Chloe? Are you listening to me, Chloe? You'd better be. Dr Munroe called from the hospital, she told me everything. So I've booked a flight, I'm on my way down now, I'm going to be there really soon, okay? You're going to be fine, mo ghràdh, you just rest and let the doctors work their magic on you for a change. And I bet your mother's been making a massive fuss, hasn't she? Oh, come on, Angel, that was supposed to lighten you up a bit..."

"She's really very ill, Mum," Ange interrupts, voice beginning to break. "She's in intensive care, she's on a ventilator, we don't know how much she's…"

"And focusing on all that isn't going to help her, Angel," Peigi reminds her gently. "Is it, Chloe? The last thing you need is your mum being all doom and gloom."

"I never said that!" Ange protests. She rests her free hand on Chloe's arm protectively, rubs gentle circles.

"No," Peigi agrees. "But she's going to pick up on your anxiety. You're doing brilliantly, Chloe, you know that, don't you? Your mum's just upset because you're her baby and she never could switch off from work, that's all. And you're going to have to let her have that one, I'm afraid, I'm a little upset too. Not with you, though. Dr Munroe said you must have been in pain for a while now, I just wish you'd felt you could tell me last week. I'd have taken you to Aberdeen General, you know I would."

Ange smiles faintly. "Bit of a trek for an ED trip, Mum. I could have taken her, or she could have dropped by at the end of her shift, come to that. If only she'd got herself checked out…"

"What? No, I mean when she was up here. She came to stay with me last week, didn't you, Chlo?" Peigi Godard calls, and Dom doesn't understand how she's doing it, how she's managing to include her in this conversation as though it's all the most normal thing in the world, as though there's no question that Chloe is a part of this, aware, understands. "On her week off. She was in Glasgow for a few days, she was visiting a friend, I think, she was a bit vague about it, and then she came on up to mine. She didn't tell you?"

"No," Ange says quietly at last. "No, no, she… she didn't."

"Well, I think things have been a little strained, haven't they?" Peigi covers. "All things considered. She's upset, you know, Angel. Not that Dominic's her brother, at how you handled it. She thinks… well, that's probably for her to tell you, really… but given the circumstances. She thinks you only kept her because you'd already let Dominic go," she admits heavily at last. "She thinks she's second best, she thinks she was a replacement and now you've got Dominic back you'll…" She sighs. "She thinks you won't want the reminder now you have Dominic. I've told her that's utter shite and you love her to pieces, of course I have, but you know she can be a stubborn little madam once she gets an idea into her head. But we had a nice catch up, too, didn't we, Chloe? And we went for a walk along the coast before it pissed it down the rest of the weekend, and you took me out for sushi. We can do that again, once you're through the worst of this. I've missed you. But my treat next time, okay? You get better, mo ghràdh, and dinner's on me next time. Right, I'm going to have to go, Angel, or I'll miss my flight. So you hang in there, Chlo, and you look after your mum for me, will you? And I'll see you in a few hours. Love you both."

"Love you too, Mum," Ange calls quietly, voice heavily with emotion and then Peigi is gone, disappeared off the screen and Chloe's phone shut down, and selfishly, Dom can't quite help himself dwelling on the painful fact that she didn't even know he was there at all.

Silence falls again.

"She's…" Dom tries at last, feels the need to say something, anything, to break that terrible silence, and yet he just doesn't know what. "She's quite a character."

Ange smiles faintly. "Yes. Yes, she is."

"What does Chloe call her?"

Perhaps he shouldn't ask. Perhaps it's wrong of him, making it all about himself when he's the least of their mother's priorities just now, of course he is, but there's a burning ache inside him he can't quite explain, and he has to know.

Ange pauses, sighs, as though the real question he's posing is slowly dawning upon her. "Nana," she says at least, almost apologetically. "Chloe calls her Nana. Though she was more like her mother, really, while I was at medical school."

Dom doesn't have the heart to tell her he already knew, that Chloe told him that day in theatre, what feels like a lifetime ago now.

It doesn't seem fair, not now.

Not after Peigi's revelation.

The door swings open again, Alicia from the ED reappearing, ear thermometer in hand, porter and a team of nurses Dom doesn't recognise lurking behind her in the ED corridor.

"About bloody time!" Ange complains loudly. "You do realise no one's checked on her for…"

Alicia sighs deeply. "I know, and I can only apologise for that. We've got a major RTC in resus, you know how it is. Chloe?" she asks gently. "Chloe, it's Dr Munroe, I'm just going to take your temperature, okay? And then we're going to get you up for a CT. We're still waiting on her wound secretion," she explains. "I've just chased pathology again, we should have them back in the next half hour. We'll continue with the intravenous penicillin for now, then depending on her results when they come back and her reaction to the dialysis we can start to think about…"

"And how exactly are you going to do that if you aren't taking her obs regularly?" Ange rants. "No one's been into her in the half hour I've been here…"

"And they're dangerously code to a black alert, and they know Chloe has two experienced doctors in with her," Dom finishes quietly. "We can manage her obs, Ange, it's not like we haven't been doing that anyway…"

"Oh, you think so, do you?" Ange retorts. "I might as well take her up to YAU and treat her myself, if…"

"That's not a good idea, and you know it," Alicia replies calmly, watches the digital screen on the thermometer. "Besides that you're her mam, we don't know what we're dealing with yet. Okay. Her temperature's dropped, so let's try her on increased passive rewarming again for now, and we'll get her started on irrigation once she's back from CT if need be. We're going to take you through to CT now, Chloe, okay? We'll get you back to your mam and…" she glances to Dom awkwardly. "And Dom, in a few minutes. Right, can we get her onto the trolley, please."

"I'm staying with her." Ange jumps to her feet, watches fiercely as Alicia and the nursing team transfer Chloe onto the trolley. "You're not taking her for a CT without me, I'm coming with her…"

"I'll get her back to you in fifteen minutes, tops," Alicia assures her. "I think it's best we don't crowd her…"

"She's been having panic attacks, and you want to put her in a CT scanner like this? The first sign you're going to have is when her blood pressure…"

"She'll be in good hands, Ange. I'll be monitoring her throughout, the moment she starts crashing, I'll have her out of there. I promise. But I really think we need to avoid crowding her. I'm going to get her down there right on time for her slot, I'll bring her straight back after. She'll be fine. Why don't you go and get some fresh air for a few minutes? Or there's a café down the corridor on the left, it's a bit of a disappointment compared to Pulses, but anything's better than the vending machine coffees. And I'll have Chloe back to you in fifteen minutes tops, I promise. We'll know more after the CT."

Ange sighs heavily, grimaces, and for a few horrible moments Dom isn't convinced she's going to accept it, worries that she's going to continue with her policy of fierce objection and he'll be faced with the impossible choice of interfering now and hoping Ange might thank him for it later, or letting her handle it all her way and hoping Chloe doesn't suffer as a result of the inevitable delay to her treatment.

She's going to be questioning everything now, Dom realises grimly. She's going to be on high alert, she'll have half convinced herself that she's the only one who fully understands her daughter's condition, the only one with her best interests at heart and she'll never let Alicia and the rest of the ED team do their jobs without a fight after that, wanting to check everything herself, trust shattered…

"Okay," Ange agrees quietly at last. "Okay. But if she deteriorates…"

"We'll let you know straight away," Alicia assures her. "Go and get some air. I'll bring her back as soon as we're done with her CT."

"You go," Dom suggests, picking up on Ange's reluctance to leave. "You go, I can stay here, just in case…"

"No." Ange shakes her head, adamant. "I'm not going anywhere. I'm not risking not being here when they bring her back down here." She stands, takes Chloe's clothes from Dom, frowns at Chloe's folding abilities, begins re-folding and it's almost as though she just needs something to do, something to take her mind off it all. "If she's aware, if she has a panic attack in the CT scanner and she starts fighting the ventilator…"

"Then Alicia will deal with it. But you've got at least ten minutes," Dom points out. He watches, helpless, as Ange grips onto Chloe's jumper, at a total loss as to what to do for the best. "Or I can go? I could head to Pulses and get us tea?"

She nods at last. "Okay. That would… that would be great, Dom. Thank you."

He lingers in the doorway for a moment, so many emotions racing through his mind in those moments, and not the faintest idea how to process them all.

Tea, he reminds himself. Tea from Pulses, take it from there. Wait for Chloe's diagnosis, wait for Peigi to arrive from Aberdeen…

Wait for Ange to pull herself together and reclaim control of the situation.

It's a mess. It's all just such a mess…

"Chloe looks like him," Dom blurts out before he can help himself, not entirely sure why he does it, curses himself the moment he's uttered those words. "Doesn't she."

It isn't a question.

"No," Ange snaps defensively, clutches Chloe's jumper against her chest tightly, breathes in its scent as though it's all she's clinging on for. "No, she doesn't. She looks like _Chloe_."

**Thank you so, so much elleigator, Aggie89 and my two guests for reviewing the first chapter! I was so nervous posting this, I think this is the earliest I've ever started writing fanfiction for a show after starting to watch it, so your feedback was massively appreciated. You are awesome. And totally the reason I managed to write this chapter so quickly! **

**There are a few clues as to what's wrong with Chloe and what she was really doing in Scotland hidden in this chapter, if you look carefully you might spot them...**

**I'm going to experiment a bit with the next few chapters- if you've read my Casualty stories, you probably already know that I tend to try out a few different approaches with my writing and how I tell the story in the first few chapters so I can get a feel for what you guys prefer. So reviews would be wonderful, I know you want more Ange and Dom, but please feel free to let me know anything else you would like me to include, and anything you particularly like or dislike about this chapter! My plan at the moment is for the next chapter to be set earlier in the same week, but other preferences will absolutely be taken onboard. And thank you again for making me feel so welcome on the Holby page! **

**-IseultLaBelle x **


	3. Chapter 3

**Just a note before you read this one: **

**If you've read my Casualty story Finding Avalon, you'll know I've done a LOT of research over the last year into the psychological traumas rape victims may experience during pregnancy. But I'm extremely embarrassed to admit that I'd never really considered how being conceived through rape can affect those concerned psychologically speaking. There is very, very limited research available on this- if you put 'children conceived through rape' into google, most of the hits are from pro-life organisations. And while I don't want to get into that debate, what's particularly striking is that while they advise against abortion as a solution for women left pregnant after rape at all costs, they offer no practical advice for women and children affected. **

**From what I did manage to find, it's clear that the psychological prognosis for children conceived through rape like Chloe is very, very bleak. They are significantly more likely to suffer from severe PTSD, depression and/or anxiety throughout their lives than their peers. Many of them are affected developmentally in utero as a result of their mother's trauma. Their mothers often struggle to bond with them, particularly in the first few years of their lives, and many struggle in turn to form their own healthy relationships as adults. They are also likely to experience strong feelings of guilt and shame over their fathers' actions, and may find it extremely difficult to make sense of their relationships with their mothers, and how they fit into their family units. If that doesn't sound like Chloe, I don't know what does. **

**I'm almost certain the Holby writers developed Chloe's character and her relationship with Ange with this in mind- it makes too much sense. But I don't think they've explored quite as well as they could have, particularly with adding Dom into Chloe and Ange's family. And so one of the things I'm going to try to do through this story is address that.**

**Chapter 3**

**Glasgow, One Week Earlier**

"Are you sure you don't want any breakfast, lassie?"

She's so caught up in her own world, so tired, so thoroughly drained of all her energy and just wants to sleep, just wants everything to go back to the way it was before and so thoroughly angry and frustrated and desperately sad that it won't, that things will never be the same again, that it takes her a moment to realise that the bed and breakfast landlady is talking to her.

"Oh- sorry. No. No, I'm fine. Thank you, though," Chloe covers, stammering, fidgets, tucks her hair behind her left ear and she can't even explain why she feels so nervous, so on-edge.

This was a terrible idea.

She knew it was a terrible idea, knew all along, but Evan had suggested it. It had been Evan's idea; he had thought it might help her come to terms with it all, lay it to rest and move on. He'd practically insisted, in fact, back before they'd got married and it all went to shit, and by the time that had happened, by the time the truth was out and the stalking had begun, the obsessive phone calls, the gifts, the creepy polaroid photos and then the sudden radio silence, almost more disconcerting than the refusal to leave her alone, she'd already booked the hotel room, in too deep to just back out now.

She'd never been convinced it was a good idea, not entirely sure what made her book this trip, climb into her car and make the long journey from Holby up to Glasgow, why she didn't just back out while she had the chance other than the obvious, the fact that Evan had been adamant it would be good for her.

Already, it feels as though she's torturing herself. It feels as though this is all an extension of the coping mechanisms she desperately needs to give up, as though she's ripping that same old wound open again and again, driving herself to the point of insanity but she can't seem to help herself, it's almost as though she wants to hurt herself in this way too, wants to make herself suffer because it's no less than what she deserves, and besides, Evan had thought…

She needs to stop taking Evan's advice, Chloe curses herself furiously. He's out of the picture, they're getting divorced, he was controlling her, manipulating her, he was making her feel so, so worthless…

He's gone, Chloe reminds herself. He's gone; they're over, and despite his attempts to convince her otherwise, she won't be giving him a second chance. The divorce is happening.

Why is she still taking his advice?

"I can get you some normal milk, if you've changed your mind," Moira the landlady offers. "I know you said you wanted that Oatly stuff, but I've never much liked the look of it. Smells a bit like cardboard, doesn't it? Or if I've got you the wrong one, I can..."

"Oh, no, it's nothing like that," Chloe assures her quickly. "it is the right one. Thank you. I'm just… I'm just not hungry, that's all."

She feels as though she's going to be sick.

"You do look a bit peaky," Moira remarks absentmindedly, the slightest trace of concern in her voice. "Maybe you're coming down with something. Are you up to anything much today?"

"Oh, you know," Chloe lies. "Just sightseeing, really."

"And it's your first time in Glasgow, is it?"

"Not my first, no. My mum grew up in Glasgow, I came down here a few times when I was a kid. Visiting friends, mostly, you know. Not much of the touristy stuff."

"You don't have family here?"

Chloe shakes her head. "Not anymore. We moved up to Aberdeen, my mum's family, not long after I was born." She fidgets with her phone awkwardly, anxious, nauseous, thoroughly exhausted, reaches for her handbag. "Anyway, I… I should get going. Thank you. For the coffee."

"Oh, you're welcome." Moira smiles at her sympathetically, and it's almost as though she knows, Chloe considers, panic rising within her and she can't quite explain why. It's like she knows, just from looking at her, that she's broken, that she's a monster, forced upon her mother when it was never her she wanted, it was the one she couldn't have…

It's like it's painfully clear just from looking at her that she's damaged goods.

After all, that's what Evan says.

"Listen," Moira tries kindly. "You're just here by yourself, is that right? You're not visiting anyone? Only I'm doing the late shift tonight, so if you'd like to talk…"

She's totally seen right through her, Chloe curses herself. She's so stupid, pathetic, can't even hold herself together for five minutes…

"Oh, that's… that's really kind, thank you," Chloe stammers. "Only I'm not quite sure what I'm doing this evening yet, I might just…"

"Okay. Okay, but if you change your mind…" Moira begins, but Chloe has already gone, turned on her heels and made a beeline for the doorway, has to get out, has to get away.

She won't fall to pieces, turn into a panicky wreck in front of a complete stranger.

She won't. She won't…

Focusing on her breathing, she walks around the back of the B and B to the car park, shivers a little and it's summer but it's not entirely unexpected, Chloe tells herself. She's been away from Scotland for so long, after all, she's probably lost her immunity to the occasional chill of Scottish summers.

She unlocks her car, climbs into the drivers' seat, pauses, just for a moment.

She could still go back.

It isn't too late.

No one would ever have to know; she could just go straight back into the B and B now, fob Moira the landlady off with half-truths of a family emergency, pack up her suitcase and head straight back to the motorway, back down to Holby, write this all off as Evan trying to trap her under his spell yet again via the distress this is all inevitably going to cause her and pretend she never came here at all…

She could run.

_Run, Chloe. Run now, and maybe then you'll forget about it all, before it's too late…_

_Teči, Chloe. Teči zdaj, še mogoče pozabiš, pred je preveč…_

Her mind screams at her, perhaps in warning, but Chloe is too far gone to make sense of it all.

She's heading into panic attack territory, Chloe realises with a sinking feeling.

This is how it starts. This is how it always starts; it's as though her mind is trying to calm her down but she can't listen, can't understand, will finally make sense of her desperate attempts to calm herself down only after it's all over, remembering it as though it happened to someone else, not to her. It's like an out of body experience, almost; it all makes such perfect sense when she's recalling it afterwards, rational, head clearer, but in those moments, when she's lost in the panic, hyperventilating…

_Breathe, Chloe. Breathe._

_Except you can't, can you? You're a monster. Even your own mother didn't want you, she only kept you because she wanted her first baby back, if she hadn't given him away you wouldn't even be…_

Chloe grips the steering wheel tightly, doubled over, struggles against the sharp pains in her chest, in her throat, in her abdomen, the pins and needles in her limbs, the very act of filling her lungs with oxygen causing a horrible, heavy aching in her heart and she can't think, can't rationalise, can't breathe, can't do this, she just can't, she wants…

She wants her mum. That's all she wants, she just wants her mum…

Why can't things just go back to the way they were before?

She loses those next few minutes.

Well, maybe she doesn't lose them as such, not completely. Maybe she does remember them, once it's over, once she can breathe again.

It's all so horribly complicated.

She fights against the demon in her head trying to control her, fights to regain composure, to level out her breathing when her mind is running on overdrive and there's a stabbing pain in her chest to match the dull throbbing, hot, sharp wounds in her abdomen and she doesn't know if she wants to go through with this, doesn't know what she wants anymore, just wants it all to stop and it feels as though she's been trapped in this hell for hours, though rationally she knows it can only have been a couple of minutes, absolute maximum…

Is it going to help? Is it going to help, allow her to take the steps forward Evan suggested, or is she just going to make it all a thousand times worse if she goes through with it? Is it going to haunt her, is it going to be even worse when she knows, should she forget Evan, convince herself that this is yet another of his attempts to make her weak and broken and dependent upon him, accept it and run, drive back to Holby, back to her…

She just wants her mum, Chloe realises desperately, finally slows her breathing down, head spinning just a little, thoughts echo in her head and she can't escape them, just feels so hopeless, so… so lost, so… messed up...

Screw it, Chloe decides. Screw Glasgow, screw acceptance of where she came from, screw Evan, screw it all.

She just wants her mum.

_You're twenty-nine years old and you can't function for five minutes without needing your mum's reassurance, for god's sake, Chloe, you're pathetic._

All the same, she's pulling her phone from her pocket before she can help herself, bringing up her mum's number, thumb hovers anxiously over the call button and this is ridiculous, Chloe tells herself, this is totally ridiculous, but she can't seem to pull herself together, breathing slowed, but there's still that tell-tale tremor to her inhalation every few moments, still unwanted thoughts racing through her head, still ringing in her ears…

_You're ridiculous, Chloe. You're ridiculous, why do you have to keep doing this, why can't you just function normally like everyone else manages to…_

Why won't it all just stop?

Hands trembling, Chloe holds her phone to her ear, harsh bleeping of the dialling tone only exacerbating the high-pitched wailing she knows she can't hear, not really, knows it's all a lingering symptom of the panic attack but knowing it doesn't help.

She's not going to pick up, Chloe tells herself. She's not going to pick up, it was stupid to even try calling her, pinning her hopes on her like this. She'll be in theatre, she'll be working, she'll have better things to do than reassuring her _adult_daughter over the phone after yet another meltdown.

_For god's sake, Chloe, get a grip, just get a bloody grip…_

The call connects.

"Hi, sweetheart." There's warmth in her mum's voice, care, but at the same time a distracted edge, as though she's got better things to be doing right now, as though Chloe has picked the worst possible time to bother her. "Is everything okay? I haven't got long, I need to start prepping for theatre soon…"

"It's okay," Chloe assures her quickly, fights to keep her voice level, more determined than ever now not to give away to her mum that she's struggling again, that just now she's not okay at all, not convinced she'll ever know how it feels to be okay again. "It's okay, you go, I'll call you later…"

"No, it's alright. It's alright, you're fine," her mum tells her, but she's distracted, Chloe realises. She can picture her in her head; she's probably sat at her desk now, phone on speaker, mind only half on this conversation because she's already busy glancing over her patient's notes, mentally preparing herself, better things to do than deal with her daughter. "What is it?"

She pauses for a moment, almost scared to ask she's pinning her hopes on her mum so completely, afraid of rejection, afraid of what she'll do if she says no. "Are you free tonight?"

She still has time. If she goes straight back into the B and B now and packs her things, sets off in the next half hour she can easily make it back to Holby by the time her mum comes off her shift, even with an hour's break at a motorway service station, even with bad traffic.

She can forget all about this, all of it. She can put it down to Evan and his pathetic attempts to undermine her, make her weak, dependent on him, accept that she doesn't really want to go through with this, that perhaps Evan is right and it will help but it could backfire and just make it all worse, and if she doesn't want to do it…

"I'm out tonight," her mum tells her apologetically. "Sorry, Chloe. Fletch is taking me out for dinner… well…" she trails off, pauses, voice suddenly laced with awkwardness, as though she knows whatever she says next, her daughter is going to take it badly.

"Fletch is taking Dom and I out for dinner," she finishes at last.

Chloe's heart beats furiously in agony.

"Family outing, then. What, and no one thought to invite me?" Her voice doesn't quite sound like her own as she utters those words; cold, jealous, hurt, pushed out.

Has she really been that awful company lately?

Her mum sighs. "Fletch is paying," she explains apologetically. "It wouldn't have been fair to invite you along with him insisting that dinner's on him, I wanted to… Look, it's not what it sounds like, sweetheart. We went out after work the other night, the three of us, just a few drinks and then we went onto Pop World, I was… well, I was… I was upset, it was stupid, really, it's nothing, but Fletch suggested the three of us go out for dinner tonight, it was sweet of him. I didn't think you'd mind. Maybe… you're off this week, aren't you? I'm working tomorrow, I'll probably be in until late, but perhaps at the weekend you can come over and we can…"

"Are you okay?" Chloe whispers softly.

"Hmm?" She can practically hear her mum frowning over the phone, feigning confusion, but it's clear she knows exactly what her daughter is referring to. "How do you mean?"

"Well, you said you were upset…"

"It doesn't matter. Honestly, Chloe, it doesn't matter," her mum insists. "I'm fine now, forget about it…"

"But you don't sound fine, you sound like…"

"Chloe," Ange says firmly. "Chloe, forget it. It doesn't matter…"

"But you told Dom?" Chloe questions, can't keep the hurt from her tone anymore, doesn't even bother trying. "You told Fletch, fine, but you told Dom and you won't tell me…"

"Chloe," her mum sighs. "It's… it's not like that. I was… look, it wasn't deliberate, sweetheart. You just weren't there. It was an in the moment thing, I was upset, we'd all had a couple too many, I just needed to talk about it, that's all. Fletch and Dom thought it would be good for me to have something to take my mind off… It's today," she says quietly. "This is why I didn't want to tell you, I knew you'd be upset…"

"Today that you gave up Dom for adoption?" Chloe realises. "Is it... you said he was about six months when..."

"He was. Yes, it was around now. But it isn't that, that's not what…" She can hear her mum's voice shaking, even over the phone, even though she's trying to disguise it. "It was thirty years ago, today," Ange finishes at last. "Thirty years ago today that I was… raped."

Everything stops.

It seems like such a horrible twist of fate.

Perhaps she knew. It seems like too much of a coincidence, all things considered. Perhaps she knew, perhaps she's known subconsciously for years, picked up on little changes in her mother's behaviour on this day each year of her life, observed the pattern and made the connection even if she hasn't ever acknowledged it. Perhaps she hasn't ever wanted to; governed by some deeply buried, instinctive form of self-preservation.

Perhaps she picked this date when Evan first suggested this idea because she knew all along, knew that it would make it all the more… significant, somehow, a full-circle thing, inexplicable…

Perhaps she picked today to do this because she wanted to torture herself, remind herself of the violence from which she came.

It feels as though she's stabbed her in the heart, twisted the knife in. It feels as though the world is falling apart, because suddenly it makes sense, why they excluded her; it all makes awful, perfect sense…

"And thirty years since I was conceived," Chloe adds for her. "That's why you don't want me there, isn't it, it's because it's also thirty years since you ended up pregnant with me…"

"And that's not the part I was upset about the other night!" her mum protests quickly. "I love you. You're the best thing that ever happened to me, sweetheart, this is… those two things are entirely unconnected…"

"Of course they're connected!" Chloe insists. Her heart is racing and she's fighting so hard to keep calm, determined not to spiral back into panic attack territory but it's so damn hard, and she can't do it, she can't… "Of course they're connected, that's _how _you ended up with me..."

"Okay, so they're connected. But I don't see it like that," Ange sighs. "You know that, we've been through this. I wouldn't change you for anything. I wish I didn't have to go through that to have you, that's the part I was upset about. But I wouldn't… I can't say I'm glad it happened. Of course I'm not. But if that's what I had to go through to have you, then I wouldn't change it. I love you so much. You're my wonderful daughter, I can't even imagine how different everything would have been if I hadn't had you…"

"But that's why you don't want me there tonight, isn't it?" Chloe realises, hands shaking, can hardly hold the phone still. "You don't want me there because you're upset about what happened, and if you have to look at me all evening I'm only going to remind you that…"

"No, it isn't," Ange says firmly. "It was the three of us out the other night, when it came up, Fletch suggested it, he offered to pay, I couldn't just demand he pay for you, too, could I? Or…" she groans loudly, panicked, almost, as though a sudden realisation has hit her, as though she's messed up and she knows it and she's preparing to grovel. "Or I suppose… maybe Fletch saw it like that, maybe he just suggested the three of us go out tonight and didn't ask me if I thought you'd be up for it because he was thinking of it like that, I don't know, but I swear, I never put that idea into his head, I wouldn't ever…"

"You told him, didn't you?" Chloe accuses.

She can hear her voice trembling now, and how can she stop it, how can she hold it all in when the whole world seems to be crashing down around her and none of them seem to have stopped to think about how she feels.

Or perhaps they just don't care.

"Chloe…"

"I get it! I get it, it happened to you, you shouldn't need my permission to tell people!" Chloe rants, and she feels awful, beyond awful, in fact, that she's shouting at her mother over this of all things, but it's that or dissolve into tears and she won't do that, she won't, she just won't… "But I have to work with him, Mum! You knew I was upset you told Dom before I even knew I had a brother, you knew that, and you still told Fletch, and you weren't even going to tell me…"

"I was going to tell you!" Ange protests. "Of course I was going to tell you, do you really think I was going to make that mistake again? Those few weeks you weren't talking to me were the worst, sweetheart. I wouldn't, I couldn't, do that again. I didn't even mean to tell him, Chloe, I just… I was upset, and…"

"That makes it worse! That makes it ten times worse, can't you see that? Are you just going to tell the whole hospital, while you're at it?"

"That isn't fair…"

"No, you telling him isn't fair, Mum!" Chloe argues. "I have to work with him! It's all just part of working in the same hospital, isn't it, if you make the decision to tell your colleagues you're making that decision for both of us! You're not the one who has to come into work wondering how many of your colleagues know you're a monster…"

"You are _not_a monster," Ange says firmly. "You're not a monster, Chloe, I never, ever want you to think…"

"You can say that all you like, Mum, but it doesn't change anything! I was made by a monster…"

"And I can't change that," her mum agrees quietly. "That's the one thing I can't take away, and I'm so sorry. I would if I could. But you are _nothing_like him, Chloe. Nothing. I've always tried to do everything possible to make sure what happened doesn't affect you, but the one thing I can't do is change how…"

"But you don't have to tell people! First Dom, now Fletch, you might as well just put a notice up in the staff room and be done with it, Fletch isn't exactly going to keep it quiet, is he? It'll get out, the whole hospital will know sooner or later and then everyone's going to be looking at me like I'm some sort of…"

"No," her mum insists, but Chloe can tell she isn't so confident, not now. She hides it well, in those moments, fakes an air of assuredness over the phone, but Chloe knows her better than that. "No, they won't, sweetheart. No one is going to… look, I'll have a word with Fletch, okay? He wouldn't, Chloe, I'm sure he wouldn't, and Dom wouldn't either, but I promise I'll talk to both of them, I'll make it perfectly clear that what I told them is never, ever to be repeated, they'll understand. They won't say anything, I promise, nothing will change with…"

"Except it already has!" Chloe sobs. She can't hold it in anymore, given up trying, tears flowing openly and she just can't seem to stop herself, so totally thrown by this new development, calling her mother in search of comfort and receiving anything but that she doesn't know what to do, needs to pull herself together all by herself and she doesn't know how, she doesn't know how… "It already has, Mum, Fletch clearly thought the last thing you needed tonight was to have to spend time with me, he thought Dom should be with you but he didn't think I should be…"

"That's not completely fair, Chloe. It was the three of us out that night, when we talked about it, he might have just thought… okay," Ange sighs desperately, seems to realise that she's fooling neither of them. "Okay, I see what you mean, I can understand why you're upset. So I will talk to him. Okay? I will talk to him, and, I don't know, if you want to come tonight, we can…"

"But do _you_want me to come tonight?" Chloe asks quietly, not entirely convinced she wants to know the answer. "Because it's okay. If this isn't just Fletch putting me in a box now he knows I'm a child of…"

"Don't say it," her mum pleads. "That's not what you are, sweetheart. It doesn't…"

"Except it is, though," Chloe points out, tries as hard as she can to present it as matter-of-fact, as though she doesn't care, but it's no good, impossible to hide her distress. "You can avoid using that word as much as you like, you can keep saying you see what happened to you and ending up with me as separate, but that's exactly what I am. Calling it something else doesn't change anything. But if it isn't just that Fletch thinks you need to keep away from me right now, if you want to keep away from me too, it's okay, I get it…"

"Chloe…"

"It's okay, Mum. Look, just… just let me know when you can bear to look at me again," Chloe blurts out, hurt, suddenly realises how horribly harsh she sounds. "Look, I… I'm sorry," she whispers, sincere this time, means it with everything she has, because it's her fault, all of it; how can she blame her mum and Fletch and Dom for all this when it all comes down to her? "I'm just… I'm sorry. I'm really sorry."

She hangs up the phone before her mum can protest that she's apologising for an atrocity she didn't commit, that she can't take responsibility for the man who fathered her purely because she shares his DNA.

She shoves her key into the ignition, turns, sets the sat nav.

She can't go home now, not like this, Chloe tells herself firmly, refuses to allow herself to even consider the possibility.

She's going to make it worse. Her mum needs her to stay away, her mum needs support that isn't her today, certainly can't be dealing with her panicky ridiculousness.

Her mum needs her to stay as far away as possible for a couple of days, at least, lie low, let her grieve, let her cry over the pain and the violence and the atrocities inflicted upon her without having to face a constant reminder of what happened that night, without having to face _her_, because that's what she is, a constant reminder, half her mother, half that monster…

By the time she parks outside the Glasgow City Archive, her eyes are red-rimmed and puffy and she has seventeen missed calls from her mum, two from Dom and two texts from a number she doesn't recognise.

_Hi Chloe, it's Fletch from work. Your mum said she thought there might have been a bit of a misunderstanding. I'm taking your mum and Dom out for dinner later, it would be great if you could join us. You're more than welcome, I'm sorry I didn't think to invite you before. It wasn't anything personal. Let me know if you can make it? _

_I know your mum would love to have you there. Please, Chloe._

**You guys are honestly so lovely! Thank you so, so much Elleigator, Fred and guest for your reviews of the last chapter, I'm so glad you're enjoying this. There will be a diagnosis for Chloe in the next one, and Dom will finally be meeting his grandmother too, I know some of you are waiting for that to happen! **

**Thoughts on this chapter would be hugely appreciated- as I said last time, I'm going to throw some different writing techniques at you a little bit for the first few chapters just to see what works, so please do feel free to tell me what you like and what you don't, it will be taken onboard! **

**-IseultLaBelle x **


	4. Chapter 4

**Just to warn you all, there are references to self-harm in this one, but if you've been okay with Chloe's storyline on the show you'll be fine. I also have to tell those of you who have been waiting for a Peigi/Dom reunion that things moved faster in this chapter than I was originally planning- Peigi is still on her way down from Aberdeen, she will be making a proper appearance soon! **

**For my anon asking, Peigi is a Scots Gaelic name that comes from Margaret (Pearl). **

**P3 is the equivalent of Year 2 in the English school system. **

_I will build my love a tower, _

_Near yon' pure and crystal fountain,_

_And on it I will pile_

_All the flowers of the mountain._

_-Wild Mountain Thyme, Traditional Scottish._

**Chapter 4**

"It's been twenty-five minutes now." Ange checks the time on her phone screen again, fidgets, agitated, glances between the door and the empty hospital bed and back again. "Alicia said she'd be fifteen minutes tops, they've got a CT scanner right down the corridor, for god's sake, it shouldn't take this long."

She's still clutching Chloe's yellow jumper tightly to her chest, Dom notes grimly, breathes in its scent like a small child clinging to a comfort blanket.

"Maybe they got held up," he suggests carefully. He's not entirely sure he believes it himself, not really, but he's overcome with a desperate need to keep her calm, because she's his mother.

She's his mother, and her pain is so horribly apparent.

He's only known she's his mother for a matter of months, the briefest amount of time, but already he can't stand to see her like this.

Ange shakes her head despairingly, pulls bleached blonde hairs from Chloe's jumper. "I knew I should have gone with her," she curses. "She's not well at the moment- and no, I don't just mean this. I mean, this is…" she shakes her head again, and it's almost as though she still can't get her head around it all, Dom realises, can't make sense of how it's come to this, how they're here, how everything had seemed so normal, or at least as close to normal as things have been lately, only this morning, and now they're in this dire mess. "This is just beyond, if I'd known… I never would have let this happen," she whispers, as though trying to justify it to herself as much as to Dom, reassure herself that she hasn't failed as a mother, hasn't thrown her baby from the nest and encouraged her to fly oblivious to the dangers lurking below. "I had no idea about any of this, I thought physically, she was fine. But mentally… I knew she wasn't right, the panic attacks, it's been so much worse since all the latest with Evan, and that's just the ones she's been telling me about…"

"She'll be okay," Dom murmurs. "She won't… if it is what it's looking like it is, she might be somewhat aware, but she's probably not going to be aware enough to freak out in the CT scanner, is she?" He sighs, takes in Ange's expression. "I know, I'm sorry. But being brutally honest. Her GCS was, what…" he pauses momentarily, reaches for Chloe's notes, grimaces. "Six, when she was last testable. She's not claustrophobic, is she?"

"It's not as simple as that, though," Ange argues. "She's not always…. Often, it'll be specific triggers that set her off, situations, verbal cues, you know the kind of thing. But sometimes there isn't an obvious reason, she just… I just think if she's aware enough to realise something's happening to her but not enough to appreciate it's just a CT scanner, after everything that's happened with Evan…" She trails off, sighs, helpless. "I should have gone with her. She's going to be feeling vulnerable enough as it is, if she's struggling to work out where she is and she thinks he's…"

"Then Alicia will deal with it. She'll be used to it, they must see patients in a state of distress all the time. Far more than we do. Not that I think she'll be distressed," Dom adds quickly, suddenly conscious that Ange might get the wrong idea. "I'm sure she's fine. But Alicia will have seen it all before, far more than we have. Chloe's in good hands. They won't be much longer now. They're dealing with a major incident, aren't they, maybe someone just had to jump the queue for the CT, or something. She'll be fine. And we'll know more once we have her results, we can… It'll be clearer, then," he settles on at last, because he can't promise that it will all be alright in the end, not now.

Not like this.

They both know exactly what this is going to turn out to be, and so does Alicia and the nursing team, treading on eggshells.

They just don't want to admit it until it's beyond any doubt, because Chloe's chances of pulling through this now are rapidly diminishing and it's far too difficult to accept.

"This is why I have to be so protective," Ange says quietly, and there's guilt in her voice now, in her eyes; guilt and desperation, pleading with Dom to understand. "Of Chloe, I mean. I shouldn't… I know I've given you the impression…"

"That Chloe comes first," Dom finishes for her, can't quite keep the bitterness from his tone- and it's wrong of him, he knows it is, given the dire situation they're in now, given that this could be it, could be the end of it all, but he just can't help himself. "Chloe's your priority, everything revolves around Chloe…"

"Yes," Ange admits quietly. "Yes, and that was wrong of me, and I'm sorry. I just…" she sighs, closes her eyes. "I love you both equally. I will always love you both equally. But if I'm going to treat you both fairly, that isn't always going to mean equal amounts of my time and energy. You've got another family, Dominic, you've got Carole- and Carole's your mum, I can't take that away. That doesn't mean I don't want to be your mum too, of course I do. But you do have Carole. And you have Lofty, you have a husband. Chloe doesn't have anyone else…"

"She has Peigi." It's childish of him to point it out, Dom knows it is, but the flood gates have opened and he can't let it go, not without putting up at least a small amount of resistance, proving his point.

Ange sighs. "I know. But she's in Aberdeen, Dominic. It's not the same thing. This is…" she trails off, closes her eyes again. "_This_is why I have to be protective. I… I worry about her," she admits. "Most of the time she's fine, she's functioning, she's happy, but when this happens… every now and then, this happens- the panic attacks, the self-harming, I mean, not all this. Not… _this_." She gestures helplessly around Chloe's hospital side room. "Nothing like this before, but even then… this is the worst her mental health has been for a long, long time, but it's not totally out of character for her. She'll have less severe episodes like this on and off, there's not always an obvious trigger. Perhaps I'm overprotective of her, but I have to be. Although clearly I wasn't protective enough this time." She shudders, glances back at the firmly closed door out onto the ED corridor, face a picture of frustration and fear. "I thought I was on it, I thought I was keeping her safe, but clearly I failed her this time."

"You haven't failed her," Dom insists gently. "You couldn't have known…"

"I've seen her go through this cycle enough times by now, Dominic, I should have seen this coming! Sorry," Ange sighs, seems to think better of her outburst. "I just… I worry. I can't seem to get her out of this cycle, I think I have, and then months later, maybe a few years, if she's lucky, this happens again. And I'm not going to be here forever, am I? Even with a smaller age gap than most mothers have with their kids. I worry about who's going to look after her when I can't anymore…"

"I will," Dom vows, doesn't even hesitate, words leaving his lips before he's quite realised what he's said, but even then, there's no regret. "I'll look after her."

"Dominic…"

"She's my little sister," Dom says simply, crosses the room, rests his hands on his mother's shoulders, stands behind her. "Of course I will. It's not even a question."

His mind is suddenly filled with images from another universe, another life unlived; protective big brother mode. Walking home from school together, Chloe's hand held tightly in his, helping her with her homework… arguing with her over who got the biggest slice of cake… except no, Dom decides, she's his baby sister- is their three-year age gap large enough that he'd just have let her have her way, or is it this situation clouding everything, causing him feel as though he'd allow her whatever she wanted because right now, he'd give anything for her to pull through this? Picking her up from friends' houses once he passed his driving test, being the one in charge while Ange was working, defending her from the school bullies, coaching her through her GCSES and her A Levels, then her medical school applications- or is it something else in Scotland? He doesn't know… Making her laugh when she's sad, teasing her when she's happy, picking a birthday present for Ange together, counting out the small change from their piggy banks, slipping away to the shops on the way home from school… Taking her clubbing for the first time once she turned eighteen, or maybe before she was legal- or would Ange have done that? He wouldn't put it past her…

He always wanted a sibling.

"Thank you," Ange whispers. Her voice is trembling now, just the faintest trace of waterworks on the horizon. "Thank you. Not just for that, for… If you hadn't been there earlier, when she collapsed…"

"I think it's best we don't think about that," Dom suggests quietly. "That's not going to do any of us any good now, is it? I was there. I was there, I caught her, that's all that matters. We got her down here quickly. She's in the best possible place, once we have her results, we can…"

He trails off, suddenly aware of footsteps on the corridor outside, and then the door finally opens, but it's not Alicia and the porters bringing back Chloe.

Dylan Keogh, ED clinical lead, stands in the doorway alone, expression grave.

Ange turns white.

"It's alright," Dylan says quickly, seems to realise that Ange is already assuming the worst, rapidly approaching panic territory herself. "There's just been a change of plan, we've had to take Chloe straight up to theatre. Alicia's doing the handover in AAU now. Her wound secretion results came back while she was in CT," he explains, tone gently matter-of-fact, and it's clear he's been briefed, knows they're aware of exactly where this is going.

"It's as we suspected, I'm afraid," Dylan explains. "I'm not going to sugar coat it. It's sepsis, it's advanced, she's in septic shock. We're not looking at multi-organ failure yet but she's heading that way, her urea levels are through the roof, blood sugar's still at rock bottom, she hasn't responded to the dialysis as quickly as we would have expected. Her heart looks okay for now, no cause for concern neurologically speaking at this stage, but she's suffering from acute respiratory distress syndrome. We're going to continue with the lung protective ventilation strategy for the time being, we'll review the situation once she's out of theatre. There's no sign of pneumonia, the sepsis seems to have originated from the abdominal wounds, as we suspected. She's been slow to respond to the antibiotics so far, we really haven't got time to wait for an improvement at this stage. If it was early stage sepsis, then yes, but we're well beyond that now. Alicia's taken her up to AAU, Ms Campbell's going to remove as much of the infected tissue as possible and we'll take it from there. We'll bring her back down here, once she's out of theatre; we're still working on finding her a side room upstairs, I'm afraid, and given the circumstances, I think it's best we leave her in a side room for the time being. For various… well, you know the reasons, don't you? I haven't been involved in treating Chloe, but from what I understand from Ms Campbell, she may well opt for a for a prosthetic graft for the time being, and then if we… well, we'll monitor her over the next few days with the view to…"

"If we get that far," Ange interrupts shakily, head in her hands. "That's what you were going to say, isn't it? There's no point worrying about a skin graft now because Chloe's too unstable, and what with the septic shock you don't think she's going to…"

"I didn't say that," Dylan says quietly. "Like I said, we'll continue to monitor her over the next few days, we'll aim to get her back into theatre for a skin graft once she's more stable. If that's necessary, we don't know for definite. We'll know more once Ms Campbell finishes with her in theatre…"

"I'm going up there." Ange springs to her feet frantically, begins gathering together Chloe's things. "I'm going up to observe, I can't sit down here and just…"

"That isn't a good idea," Dylan tells her firmly. "That really isn't a good idea, you know that. They'll be prepping Chloe for theatre now, there really isn't any point…"

"Don't tell me there's no point!" Ange snaps, voice trembling. "My daughter's in septic shock, you're telling me the source of the infection's bad enough Serena's considering removing enough tissue she'll need to take her back in for a skin graft, and you want me to believe there's no point going down there…"

"But there's nothing you can do for Chloe right now, is there?" Dylan points out, matter-of-fact, unapologetic. "They're going to need to be objective in theatre, aren't they? You're her mother. You're never going to allow them to be objective because you're her mother, and that makes you a hindrance in theatre. Sorry, but it does. Chloe's in good hands, you know as well as I do that Ms Campbell's a highly experienced surgeon. Chloe doesn't need you to observe in theatre. She needs you to be her mum. So the best thing you can do is get some air, try and keep calm, and be here once she's out of theatre. Alright? This is a relatively straightforward procedure, isn't it, you know that. It's abdominal tissue removal, the anaesthetist's recommended a local, as I understand it. They'll have her in there an hour, tops."

It's perfectly clear from the look on Ange's face that right now, trapped in this nightmare, the mere thought of an hour feels like a complete and utter eternity.

This can't be happening, Dom ponders to himself faintly. It can't be septic shock, not with its sixty percent mortality rate, it just can't.

Not Chloe. Not Chloe…

"This is about stabilising her," Dylan continues, gentle but firm now. "The next twenty-four hours are going to be crucial, you already know that. We need to get the sepsis under control if Chloe's going to have a fighting chance, and the way she's responding to the antibiotics… well, we're all medics here, aren't we, we might as well be realistic about it. She's barely responding to the antibiotics, she's… I don't know if anyone's talked you through her bloodwork?"

Ange shakes her head faintly.

"No? I'll be upfront, it's not good. I think we can safely conclude she's malnourished, her protein levels are low, she's anaemic, she's B12 deficient… you get the idea. And on top of that she's severely dehydrated, and her blood pressure's been slow to improve. Dr Munroe and Ms Campbell agree, and I'm certainly not going to argue with them, that we simply don't have time to wait and see if she starts responding to the antibiotics. We need to stabilise her. Tissue removal's the best option at this point. We'll let you know as soon as she's in recovery, we'll take you straight through to see her, but in the meantime, I really do think you should take a few moments for yourself. Chloe's head CT's normal, I think we have to work on the assumption that she's somewhat aware of her surroundings, at the very least. The best thing you can do for her now is take a break, get some air, make sure you're ready to be there for her once she's out of theatre. Alright? Chloe's going to need you once she's out of theatre."

Ange stares at the floor, silent, still clutching Chloe's jumper to her chest.

"There's one more thing we need to discuss, I'm afraid," Dylan begins carefully. "I know this is difficult, all things considered. But the wounds to her abdomen, the source of the sepsis…"

"Are self-inflicted," Ange finishes for him, voice shaking, and she sounds angry at first, furious, practically, and it takes Dom several moments to realise that the only person she's angry with is herself. "I know. Have you even read her medical history? She's been self-harming on and off for the best part of fifteen years, and I know Dominic made you aware of the current state of her mental health when your department admitted her, so do you really need to ask? She's been self-harming again. She's had a shit few months, one way or another, we've all let her down spectacularly and she's been self-harming, and now she's in septic shock. It's not exactly hard to work out, is it? I failed her, I should have seen this coming and I didn't, I should have done something, and now she's in septic shock and she could… she's not well enough to fight this, she's… and I let that happen, it's all my fault…"

"Come on," Dom says quietly, places his hands gently on Ange's shoulders, rubs comforting circles. "Let's go outside."

She allows him to do it. It's like she's given up, Dom realises grimly, as he gently guides his mother out of Chloe's side room, through the ED and out into the peace garden, ignoring it all, really, holding himself together because he has to for her, and it's only when it dawns on him absentmindedly that if Chloe were here, he'd be making some terrible joke about him carrying her handbag for her, trying to gently nudge her closer and closer towards the proper brother-sister relationship he's wanted with her for so long now.

Except Chloe isn't here. Chloe's in theatre, in septic shock, has a four in ten chance of surviving this… shit…

They sit down on the peace garden bench together, side by side, Ange discarding her bag in Dom's direction, silent, shaking, presses Chloe's jumper practically to her nose, inhales furiously, and for several minutes, it's almost as though she doesn't remember Dom is there with her at all.

"Sorry," Ange says at last. "Sorry, I… I used to do this when I first had her… she was… she was on NICU, for a while." She doesn't elaborate.

Dom decides this isn't the moment to ask her if she used to do it with his baby clothes, too, after she gave him up for adoption, as desperately as he wants to know.

Or perhaps he doesn't. Perhaps he doesn't want to know how differently Ange felt about each of them, perhaps it's better he remains in no-so-blissful ignorance…

"Was I on NICU?"

It's totally inappropriate to even be asking this now, Dom curses himself, to be making it all about him, but somehow, he just can't help himself.

Ange shakes her head, shudders. "No. No, it was… different, with you. Different circumstances, you know? I… let's just say I messed up spectacularly with Chloe. Could you pass my cigarettes?" she requests, changes the subject so abruptly Dom hardly keeps up with her, hardly has time to process what she's told him. "Front pocket of my bag."

Dom nods, reaches, picks it up from the floor. "Your vape?"

"God, no." Ange shakes her head firmly. "I need the proper stuff. Vape isn't going to cut it."

"You sure?" Dom offers apologetically, holds out her vape as a peace offering. "Only they're definitely not in here. You haven't got a lighter, either…"

Wordlessly, Ange reaches across him, takes Chloe's handbag, drapes Chloe's jumper around her shoulders and begins rummaging- and he's clearly not trusted to do that, Dom notes. She trusts him to go into her own handbag, but she's not letting him near his sister's.

"Hold that," Ange commands, passes him Chloe's purse she's just pulled out of her handbag, her phone, DK guide to Glasgow, car keys, plastic folder of goodness only knows what- research notes, perhaps- hairbrush, water bottle, packs of paracetamol, finally unearths a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. She lights up, addict-like, craving the nicotine rush, inhales, cigarette in her mouth as she sorts Chloe's belongings back into her bag, hands it back to Dom, hugs Chloe's jumper to her chest again.

"I didn't know Chloe…" Dom begins.

"What?" Ange frowns in confusion, breathes out a thick cloud of smoke. "Oh, I see what you mean. No, she doesn't. These are mine. I knew they'd be in her bag, she's been taking my cigarettes away since she had the smoking kills talk in P3. I used to have a stash in my work locker where she couldn't get at them, and then I'd have another stash in the car, I think I even had one in the garden shed, at one point…" She trails off, and then her expression changes, undeniably disgusted with herself as she throws the cigarette to the floor, stamps it out aggressively.

Hands trembling, she holds out the box of cigarettes and the lighter to Dom.

"Put them back in Chloe's bag," she instructs him guiltily. "I'll bin them when we head back in there. Don't let me into the building until I've done it."

An awkward silence follows.

"You looked at her notes, didn't you?" Ange asks suddenly. "I've been trying to avoid it, once I look…" she shakes her head. "Did you see how many mls of mercury they've got her on?"

"Seventy," Dom tells her gently, not entirely sure it's the best idea in the world to give her an answer, but what other choice does he have? "They've got her on seventy."

"And they still haven't managed to get her blood pressure under control on _seventy_?"

"She was severely hypotensive when she collapsed," Dom murmurs, can't help but feel he's making it all worse. "Her blood pressure hasn't dropped any lower, at least. Once they've removed the infected tissue…"

"Less for the antibiotics to work against," Ange finishes for him. "I know. But she's in no fit state for any kind of surgery, even without the septic shock… I don't think she's been eating properly since… you know…"

"No," Dom agrees quietly. "No, I… when she collapsed, when I caught her… well, there's nothing of her."

"No, I know. I blame Evan and his so-called health kick." Ange scowls. "Partly, anyway. Another way to exert control over her, more like. Anything she has been eating's probably been so green a rabbit wouldn't touch it." She sighs heavily, casts aside Chloe's jumper in Dom's direction. "We should get back in there. Can you put that in her bag, please, give me the cigarettes? And the lighter. I'll bin them on our way back in."

Dom nods, springs into action, hands over the offending items, though he pauses for a moment with Chloe's jumper. Are you sure you don't want to hold onto…" he begins, but she shakes her head.

"It just smells like tobacco, now," Ange whispers, utterly broken. "It doesn't smell like Chloe."

**Thank you so much for Elleigator, anon, Grace, Fred and Holbyfan for your reviews and DMs! It is honestly so, so lovely to hear that you're enjoying this story, and your feedback is always appreciated. For ****Grace- I LOVED the idea of including chapters with Ange and Dom before Dom's adoption so much I actually came home and reworked part of this story to include some flashbacks. They will be coming your way soon! **

**Sepsis occurs when the body responds to infection by having your immune system attack your own organs. There are various causes, but the important one for this story is from an infected wound, like Chloe's. Septic shock is the most severe type of sepsis it's possible to develop, at that point the organs start shutting down and mortality rates increase quite drastically compared to milder forms of sepsis. I started writing this story partly because I wanted to explore Ange's relationship with her children, but also partly because I can totally see the Holby writers going down this route with Chloe- next month is actually sepsis awareness month. The BBC has written for sepsis awareness month before (Call the Midwife, I'm looking at you, sob), and I wonder if they've not touched on Chloe's self harming for a few weeks because it's going to come back with a vengeance in time for September. I'm probably wrong, but if they do, you read it here first ;) **

**Reviews would be wonderful, I'm very aware this is quite a different chapter again, so please feel free to tell me what you do and don't like! **

**-IseultLaBelle x**


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

**Glasgow, One Week Earlier**

Chloe sits in the Glasgow City Archive café, tries to warm her cold hands by wrapping them around her cup of coffee, shivers a little despite the late summer sun.

Her whole body is trembling.

She doesn't want to be here. She doesn't want to be here, wants nothing more than to run out the door, clamber back into her car and head straight to the motorway, drive back home to Holby, over to the hospital, wait in her mum's office until she's out of theatre and has a free moment to reassure her, just wants to…

She just wants her mum.

That's what it all comes down to.

She doesn't want to do this, torturing herself with it, still half-convinced that despite every atom of her being screaming at her that this is the worst idea in the world, that what she finds is never, ever going to leave her, it's the best thing she can possibly do right now, purely and simply because it was _Evan's_idea.

She needs to shake free of that, Chloe curses herself.

Why is she still letting Evan control her like this?

She just wants her mum. She just wants to go home to her mum, just wants a hug, just wants her mum to tell her she loves her, that all this is pointless, that it doesn't matter where she came from, doesn't make a difference to her…

She just wants her mum to reassure her that she's never loved her less, never viewed her differently than Dom… never wished she didn't exist at all, that she just had her elder child back instead, her perfect baby she was forced to give away instead of her second child born from… from that.

Her mum has never told her that. She's told her a lot of things, since it all blew up, since that email that changed everything, turned the world upside down as Chloe knew it and she can't see how she's ever going to pick up the pieces. Not now.

Her mum has told her a lot of things in her desperate bids to win her over, since this all began.

But she's never told her that, and Chloe is too afraid to ask.

She told Evan.

She told Evan, and Evan told her not to ask.

Evan told her she wouldn't like her mother's answer.

Why is she still listening to Evan?

Her phone vibrates against the table again.

_Mum: Please call me back sweetheart? I know I'm bombarding you, but just so I know you're ok? Or text me, if you want. I'm so, so sorry, I just didn't think. I love you xxx_

_How can you today?_ Chloe texts back.

How can her mum possibly love her today when she came from _that?_

Her phone begins to vibrate again almost the moment the text has sent.

_Mum calling. _

She ignores it at first. She curls her hands around the coffee cup again, shudders, chest aching and determined to calm herself down before the panic sets in, determined not to embarrass herself in front of the café staff, in front of the other customers, in front of the archivist who'll be back with the documents she requested any moment, in front of everyone…

She needs to get a grip.

Panic attacks when she was a teenager were one thing, but this…

She's too old for this now. She's too old to need her mother's reassurance as often as she does, and her mum hasn't worked that out yet, hasn't realised because up until now she's been her only child, but now she has Dom she'll start to see, start to appreciate how weak and pathetic and clingy and childish her daughter really is and then… then…

Chloe doesn't know how she'll cope, then, when her mum realises just how much more independent Dom is compared to her, when she throws her out the nest and leaves her to fly on her own, because what if she can't, what if she just falls…

No sooner has the call rung out, her phone begins to vibrate again.

Chloe slides her thumb across the screen, accepts, not sure if she's doing the right thing or not.

Maybe she just needs to put her mum's mind at rest, convince her she's alright and then leave her be.

Her mum doesn't need to be dealing with her, today of all days. She needs love and support from anyone who isn't her, anyone who doesn't share the same DNA as the man who hurt her, anyone who isn't a monster, damaged goods.

Her mum needs Dom. Dom, and Fletch, and there's no room in that equation for her…

"Chloe?" her mum calls anxiously as the call connects. "Chloe, sweetheart, I never, ever want you to think like that. Do you understand? You're my daughter. You're my lovely daughter, you're nothing to do with anyone else. I'm not sharing you," she teases gently, as though trying to make light of the situation, make her smile, as though maybe she does know just how bad things have become after all. "You're _mine_. And I've been lucky enough to have you in my life for the best part of thirty years now, and at no point have I ever, _ever_seen anything in you to make me think you're even the slightest bit like… that. You're nothing like him, Chloe. Nurture is more important than nature…"

"But not always," Chloe reminds her quietly.

She's a monster. She's a monster, born of a violation and her mother must know it as well as she does, she's just trying to protect her feelings…

"No," Ange sighs. "No, not always. But for you, yes. I know you well enough by now to know that, don't you think?"

"You don't know…"

"Yes, I do. I'm your mother, it's my job to know these things. There's none of him in you, Chloe. It's just genetics. Half your DNA came from him, and I can't change that. And I'm sorry." Ange voice breaks. "I know it upsets you, and I'm so sorry. If I could change it, I would, but I can't. But what I do know is _you_are nothing like him. You're _Chloe_. You've got the half of his genetics necessary for you to physically be, but that's it. Nothing that makes you _you_comes from him, sweetheart. You're kind, you're funny, you're intelligent, you're generous, you're beautiful. That's _you_. None of that came from him."

"You didn't know any of that when I was a baby, though," Chloe whispers. "You couldn't have known any of that…"

"No," her mum agrees. "No, I didn't. But I knew as soon as I saw you that you were mine. And I was right, wasn't I? I've never once looked at you and seen him, why do you think I fought so hard to keep you? You're not like him, Chloe. He didn't raise you, Nana and I did that. You're like us, you're nothing like him. I've never resented you, sweetheart, I promise you, I haven't. Because you're not him. I love you so much, I can't even imagine how different my life be if I hadn't had you. So I never, ever want you to question that again, okay? Even today. Especially not today. You're the one good thing that came of that day, you know that? If I'm upset about today, I'm upset because of what happened. I'm not upset that you came out of that. Anything but. I'm upset of how it happened, but I'm so, so lucky that I ended up with you. I'm sorry," Ange sighs. "I know I upset you, and I'm so sorry. I never meant to hurt you, I just didn't think…"

"I know. I know it's okay. Have you talked to Fletch yet?" Chloe asks quietly, numb.

"I haven't had the chance to yet, sweetheart. I haven't been out of surgery long, I tried calling you as soon as I was done. But I will, okay? I promise. I'll talk to him on my break, him and Dom, and I promise I'll make it clear to them both that everything I told them is to stay strictly between the three- no, the four of us. They aren't going to tell anyone, Chloe, they wouldn't have anyway, I'm sure they wouldn't have. Dom hasn't breathed a word to anyone, has he? He wouldn't do that, he cares about you, he'd never want to upset you like that. But I will talk to them both, and I will make it absolutely clear. You've got nothing to worry about." Her mum hesitates for a moment, silent, almost awkward. "Am I forgiven?"

"You're forgiven," Chloe tells her, furious with herself even as she utters the words because she just can't keep the tremor from her tone.

It's not that she doesn't forgive her mum, of course she does. Of course she understands that as desperately as she seems to need to keep the whole awful, dirty secret of how she was conceived just that, private as possible, it affects her mum just as much as it does her and she needs to talk about it, needs to unburden, needs to share it all with people who aren't her daughter, aren't the product of what was done to her.

She understands.

She forgives her.

But still, it's just so hard.

Chloe doesn't know if she could bear it if she were to come into work at the end of her week off and have even just Fletch staring at her across Darwin, expression a mixture of pity and pure revulsion, because he's dating her mum, she reminds herself, he cares about her mum, maybe he's even starting to realise he loves her.

How could he not look at her, her mother's daughter, born of her mother's rape and feel anything but revulsion, now he knows?

This is why she never, ever wants anyone to know.

"But you're still upset," Ange concludes quietly. "I'm sorry, Chloe. I really am sorry, I should have… we've never really done this before, have we, proper relationships and I have never really mixed. We should have talked about it first, I'm sorry. I should have thought… we should have had this conversation, I should never have told Fletch without checking it was alright with you first, never mind… I messed up with Dom, I know I did…"

"And what if I wasn't alright with it?" Chloe's voice is practically a whisper.

"Then I wouldn't have told them," Ange says firmly. "You come first, sweetheart, okay? You always come first. Whatever else changes in my life, that won't. Not ever. I know I messed up, and I'm so, so sorry. I should have stopped and thought about how me telling them would make you feel, and I didn't. But it will never happen again. I care more about your feelings than I do confiding in my boyfriend, I was just… I was stupid, I didn't think. I'm so, so sorry, I…"

"It's okay," Chloe whispers, digs her fingernails into her forearm, compulsive, fidgeting, anxious. "It's okay. I get it, Mum, you don't have to apologise anymore. It's okay."

"And we're still friends?"

"Still friends," Chloe confirms.

Even over the phone, she can hear her mother sigh with relief.

"Okay. Okay, I'm really, really glad to hear it. So will I see you later, then?" Ange asks tentatively. "Maybe? I don't know if you got Fletch's texts, he said he'd sent you a couple of messages, he's phoned the pub and rebooked for four just in case you want to…"

"It's okay, Mum. Really, it's okay," Chloe insists. "I'm… not tonight."

"That's alright. But you'll come over to mine at the weekend?" her mum practically pleads with her. "I'm working crazy shifts the rest of this week- it's just typical, isn't it, when it's your week off, and everything. But come over to mine at the weekend, if you don't have plans already? I'll get sushi in."

Chloe smiles faintly. "You don't have to bribe me with sushi, Mum."

"And what if I want to?"

"Well, I'm obviously not going to say no if you want to."

"There you go, then. So are you around on Saturday night?" her mum offers. "Just the two of us. I'll sort the sushi and the wine, you bring the film, and we can…"

"Miss Godard?"

"What was that?" Ange frowns. "Where are you?"

"Dentist," Chloe lies quickly, quietly, glances up at the archivist calling her name from across the café area, smiles, indicates that she's coming. "Thought I'd get it over with, you know, week off and everything. That sounds… that sounds great, Mum. I'll talk to you later, yeah?"

"Okay. I lo-"

But she's already hung up before her mum has a chance to finish.

"Sorry, sorry," Chloe apologises, grabs her bag, rushes over to join Fiona the archivist. "Sorry, it was my mum, I couldn't get her off the phone…"

"It's alright," Fiona insists as she leads her back along the corridor to the archive reading room, and there's something strange about her manner, Chloe realises, changed from before, something she can't quite place. "I've ordered up the newspaper records you wanted, they're ready for you now."

"Great, thank you. So I can…"

"You can view them here." Fiona holds the door open for Chloe, leads her over to the archivist desk. "You can take photos, or if you'd prefer, we can make you a copy."

"And I can view one at a time, is that right?"

Fiona hesitates, shuffles awkwardly. "Yes. Yes, you can, but I think you're only going to want this one." She places the newspaper in front of Chloe carefully. "Glasgow Observer, 20thSeptember 1989. You want page four." Her expression is one of complete and utter pity.

Chloe frowns, confused. "How do you…"

Fiona just smiles sympathetically. "You may find it a little upsetting. You might want to think about whether you're sure…"

Chloe shakes her head firmly. "No. No, I'm sure. What makes you so certain…"

"No. No, I… I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said anything. You can pick any desk you like," Fiona tells her, hands over the newspaper folder. "And I… I'll be here. If you need anything."

She's shaking like a leaf as she crosses the room, takes a seat at the desk in the corner, places her bag on the floor, runs her fingertips slowly over the plastic folder encasing the newspaper.

_Is_she sure?

Chloe doesn't know.

She doesn't know anything anymore.

20thSeptember.

20thSeptember, 1989. That's all she seems able to focus upon.

It's a little later than she'd initially thought, based on today's date.

Her mum… her mum must have agonised over whether or not to make a police report. She must have held off, must have gone back and forth- or maybe she didn't, maybe she was just adamant she wasn't making a report, at first, maybe she thought she had made her decision and then something changed her mind…

She doesn't want to do it. She doesn't want to open up the newspaper, turn to page four because she's scared of what she might find there, even though she knows, knows exactly what she's looking for, knows it isn't going to be pretty.

It'll be generic, Chloe tells herself, tries to remember to breathe. They won't want to give too much information about exactly how it happen… would her mum even have…

She shudders, doesn't want to go there. She doesn't want to think about that, she doesn't, she _can't_…

Why is she even here if she can't bear thinking about it?

Chloe tries to take a long, deep breath, but her lungs won't let her, heading for panic attack territory again.

Rapidly, desperately, before she can change her mind, she pulls open the newspaper.

It hits her straight away.

It's the first thing she notices, the moment she's got the newspaper open to the correct page.

She can't tear her eyes away from it. She tries to focus on the main body of the text, to read it, but now she's noticed it's all she can see, compulsive, agonising, torturing her and she knows she should just close the newspaper now before she takes in any more, hand it back to the archivist and get out of here as fast as she can because shit… shit…

How can her mum possibly mean it when she tells her she loves her?

She might be going through the motions because she's her mother and she knows that's what mothers are supposed to tell their children, but she can't mean it.

She can't… she can't mean it… how can her mum mean it when she came from _this_, Chloe realises, bile rising in her throat.

This is where she came from. This is how she started, how she came into this world, this is what she is, pure and simple. She's a monster. She's not her mother's baby, or whatever she wants her to believe, she's a monster, twisted, evil, revolting…

Out of nowhere, she's retching.

She does the only thing she can do. She stuffs her hand over her mouth and she runs, gagging, fighting desperately to avoid emptying her stomach all over the archive reading room floor, runs out along the corridor and into the women's toilets, locks the cubicle door behind her and she vomits, just about manages to collapse in front of the toilet basin in time.

She retches until there's nothing left, until she's crying, until her vision is blurry and her head is spinning and her breathing is a mess again and she can't get that page of the newspaper out of her head, can't un-see it, burned into her mind forever and she can't…

This is why her mum prefers Dom, Chloe realises, sobs desperately.

She can't blame her.

Why did her mum keep her? How can her mum even bear to look at her, how could she possibly keep her when she'd already had a baby, a perfect one, one not born from the evil she was?

No wonder she's unlovable. No wonder Evan tells her she's damaged goods, that she's the problem, difficult to be around, unpleasant, uptight, selfish, down-right awful, it's because she's…

"Miss Godard?"

Chloe hadn't even heard the archivist enter the toilets.

"Miss Godard?" Fiona calls worriedly. "Are you alright? I'm sorry, I should have done more, I should have warned you… Miss Godard? Chloe?" she tries at last, voice soft, gentle. "Is there anything I can do? Anyone I can call for you? Chloe?"

**Thank you so much Elleigator, HolbyFan and my two guests for your lovely reviews and messages! (And for not hating me for giving Chloe sepsis!). Your feedback is always wonderful to receive, I'm so glad you're enjoying this story. **

**I _think_ my plan at the moment is to give you some chapters like this every few updates, with some flashbacks to when Chloe and Dom were babies and some of the morning Chloe is admitted to the ED, but please feel free to tell me if you would like something different! And would you like some chapters from Ange's perspective, or would you prefer I stick with Dom and Chloe? **

**-IseultLaBelle x **


	6. Chapter 6

In_ the dying light, I'm the only one here_

_And I will cover you until you go._

_Because if I told the truth, I would always be free,_

_And keep the prize with me u__ntil you go._

**Chapter 6**

It feels like an eternity, that next hour.

They wait. They simply sit and wait, because there's nothing else they can do, trapped in limbo and no certainties anymore, no telling if things are going to be alright, what state Chloe is going to be in once she's out of theatre, if she truly has a hope of pulling through this at all.

Dom suspects the ED team are all trying to protect them. Because they can do so with sepsis- the unpredictability, the speed, the variables all ensure that.

There's no getting around this. The team handling Chloe's care can treat him and Ange more like relatives of their patient and less like doctors than they would be able to under almost any other circumstances, because their own medical knowledge alone simply isn't going to allow them to establish the whole picture, not with septic shock.

They already seem to be trying to lay the foundations. The ED team haven't told explicitly told them that they need to be preparing themselves for the worst, but they seem to be heading that way, brutally honest, no real optimism.

Chloe isn't responding to the antibiotics. She's weak- and she was weak already, but it's only going to keep getting worse, leaves her in the worst possible position to fight septic shock. She's hurtling towards multi-organ failure so horribly rapidly that Alicia and Serena together have concluded the only option they have is to get her into theatre and remove as much of the infected tissue as possible from the infected lesions to her abdomen, and even then…

She's not strong enough for surgery. That much is perfectly clear to Dom, and he knows Ange has realised it too, can see it in her eyes, the defeat, the pain, the desperation.

Chloe isn't strong enough for surgery, and under any other circumstances the ED team wouldn't have even considered referring her up to AAU. Both of them know that. But there isn't another option, not at this point, not when Chloe isn't responding to the antibiotics as she should.

They're just going to have to hope. They're just going to have to sit this part out, hope and pray that surgery makes a difference, that once Chloe is out of theatre she'll start responding to the antibiotics at last, properly, that she'll come off the dialysis, the ventilator, that she'll regain consciousness, or full consciousness, at least, because who knows what they'll be working on the basis of by the time she's out of theatre…

Peigi's flight will be landing at some point in the next half hour, Dom realises absentmindedly.

He's pinning rather a lot of hope on Ange's mother- his grandmother, he reminds himself, though it still feels a little strange to be referring to her as that.

Maybe that will change, once he meets her.

Dom is relying upon Peigi to hold Ange together somewhat, because he's not convinced he's doing a particularly great job of it by himself.

Not really.

Ange has hardly moved since they arrived back in Chloe's hospital room, sat silently in the chair beside the empty bed. She seems to have given up on Chloe's jumper now her daughter's scent is gone from it, moved onto her t shirt instead, briefly commented on how it didn't quite smell right, laced with that sickly influenza smell and that she should have noticed, should have realised a long time ago that something was wrong and dragged Chloe down to the ED if she'd had to, ensured she was treated before things ever reached this point.

Dom had tried to point out gently that Chloe had been more withdrawn than ever over the past few weeks, that she couldn't blame herself, not when Chloe had clearly been on a mission to isolate herself as much as possible, determined that no one should notice. But that had only made Ange all the more insistent that it was all her fault, that she should have been paying more attention, if anything, shouldn't have allowed Chloe's defensiveness to fool her, should have done something, anything, to get through to her, should have realised she was on the verge of a breakdown and stepped in to save her from herself.

They fell back into silence after that.

Everything changes now, Dom realises grimly, checks the time on his phone screen again, still mentally counting down the hours remaining before Peigi's arrival at the hospital- because he's viewing her as reinforcement at this stage, the back-up and the support he desperately needs to help his mother through this, out of his depth, struggling, always somehow managing to say the wrong thing.

It's difficult, with Ange and Chloe.

Dom has always been close to his own mother- his adoptive mother, at least, close to Carole- always thought he knew what a close relationship between mother and child looked like before he really got to know Ange and Chloe. But Ange… Ange is protective, but not just protective in general; protective of Chloe, fiercely so, almost overbearing, treats her like a baby still at times. And it's different with him. Though she's starting to treat him more and more like her child now, protective, caring, concerned when she feels she needs to be, it's nothing compared to how she treats Chloe.

It could just be that Chloe's been hers for the last twenty-nine years, of course. It could be that over time, Ange will start to treat him more and more like she does Chloe, and Dom might just have to put his foot down if that happens, isn't sure he could deal with the level of constant checking-up and physical contact and overprotectiveness and storming in defensively, mother-tiger-like, that Chloe does. But somehow, Dom knows that isn't it, knows that however close he and his birth mother become, she's never going to baby him quite like she does Chloe.

That's exactly what she does. He's been trying to be polite about it, trying not to allow jealousy to cloud his perspective, especially now, when his birth half-sister is so ill. But that's exactly what it is, exactly where the problem lies. Ange babies Chloe like there's no tomorrow, smothers her, and sometimes Chloe will tell her that she can fight her own battles, doesn't need her mother's involvement in everything she does but the majority of the time, she doesn't.

The majority of the time Chloe just needs Ange to back off and force her to stand on her own two feet, Dom contemplates, irritant, just a little jealous. He managed perfectly fine, after all; he was outsourced to an adoptive mother who showed him plenty of love and affection without babying him until he was practically thirty, and he turned out okay, all things considered.

Maybe if Ange would just leave Chloe alone for five bloody minutes, maybe if Chloe realised her mum wasn't going to smother her any longer and it was sink or swim, maybe she'd swim.

What is it about perfect Chloe that causes their mother to fuss over her like she's made of glass, like she's the only thing that matters? Dom wonders bitterly, watches as Ange pulls her knees up to her chest, curls up on the hospital chair, eyes red-rimmed from yet more crying. Is it guilt? Has she babied Chloe her whole life, glued herself to her side constantly, is she constantly holding onto her arm, fussing over her, going completely overboard with physical affection on the wards because she feels so guilty about how Chloe came into the world? Is that- will that always be- the difference between the two of them, will their mother never favour him the way she favours Chloe, even now she has him back, because her guilt for how her perfect Chloe was conceived will always trump her guilt for giving Dom away and she'll always be trying to compensate for that?

Except Chloe the favourite child really isn't so perfect. Chloe can barely function without Ange fussing over her, for a start. Chloe should have known damned well what was happening to her, Chloe should have taken herself off to the ED for antibiotics weeks ago, before it got to this point and she took it out on all of them- because it's them that this is affecting now, not Chloe, not while she's like this and she's most likely not even aware of what's happening to her.

Or is this all an extension of her self-harming? Letting her wounds become so badly infected without seeking treatment… was it all just some desperate bid for attention, did she want this to happen, is she really that messed up…

"Do you think this is almost another form of her self-harming? Like a cry for help?" Dom asks tentatively, regrets his words almost the moment he utters them and he takes in the look on Ange's face. "I mean, that she's…"

"Oh, I think it's definitely a cry for help," Ange agrees, voice sarcastic, as irritant as Dom feels though for entirely different reasons, accent coming through stronger as he's learned by now it always does when she's verging on angry, frustrated with him for stating the obvious. "Had you not worked that out already? I think it's most definitely a cry for help, I think she's been crying out for help for weeks and we've all been so preoccupied with Evan making her life hell we didn't realise it went deeper than that. I think everything with Evan has affected her mental state more than any of us realised, I think she's been deteriorating for weeks and if only I'd noticed…" She shakes her head, wipes at her eyes furiously. "If only I'd done something sooner, maybe she wouldn't be…"

There's a sudden flurry of activity outside in the corridor, and then the door is open again, Serena, Nicky and Cameron with a hospital trolley, trailed by the ED staff.

"Don't worry," Nicky tells Ange quickly, must have picked up on the look of pure panic in her eyes at her presence. "She hasn't needed CT intervention, I just wanted to see her, and amazingly Ms Naylor didn't object. I'm sorry," she says sincerely as they push the hospital trolley around to beside the hospital bed, logroll. "About before. I just… it was a shock… seeing her like that, all I could think was how I should have noticed something was wrong before she collapsed, or before we left for work, even, I should have taken her straight to the ED this morning, never mind letting her anywhere near Darwin…"

"We all should have, Nicky," Ange says quietly, eyes now firmly fixed on Chloe, now being settled into the hospital bed, eyes closed, pale, ventilator still breathing for her. "You can't go blaming yourself. We all missed the signs because she wanted us to, she… I don't know. She's not well, Nicky, mentally, she hasn't been for a long time. You can't blame yourself. How is she?" She looks up at Serena and Cameron now pleadingly, hands clasped firmly around Chloe's.

"She's stablised," Serena says gently. "The surgery went well- the damaged tissue wasn't as deep as we'd feared it might be, but we've still had to go in with a prosthetic graft for now, we'll get her back in for surgery with dermatology once she's stronger. We've got her on insulin and corticosteroids, and we've upped her vasopressors again, but she's starting to respond to the antibiotics now, albeit slowly. And her blood pressure's improving. GCS is still three," she grimaces apologetically. "But we'll be looking for small improvements now, it… well, you know, don't you, it depends on how much of her kidney and her lung function we can claw back in the next few hours. She's not sedated, there's no reason she shouldn't start to regain consciousness if we can improve her organ function. We're going to monitor her closely over the next few hours, that should give us more of an idea of what we're dealing with. But that said, the same rules as before still apply. I think we have to work on the basis that she might have some degree of awareness, her head CT came back normal." She turns to Cameron for a moment. "If you could update her obs chart, please, Dr Dunn."

"Thank you, Serena," Ange whispers faintly. "Do you…" she shakes her head, squeezes Chloe's hand tightly around the cannula. "You probably don't know… have they said anything down here about… about psych…" she trails off, distracted by the sudden vibration of her phone against the arm of her chair, unlocks the screen, holds it out to Dom, first time she's acknowledged him since Chloe was brought back down from theatre. "It's my mum- can you just… I don't know, don't answer it, we're probably not at that point yet, it'll just confuse her… can you just text her, let her know I'll call her back soon? Sorry," she turns back to Serena, squeezes Chloe's hand again, back to hardly noticing Dom is there at all as he struggles to formulate a text response to her mother- to his grandmother, to Peigi, to whoever she's supposed to be to him, because who knows where he stands now in his adoptive family, now everything seems to be revolving around Chloe to an even greater extent than usual- to a _ridiculous_extent, really, even given the circumstances. "Sorry, presumably they're going to have to…"

"We've put in a call to Psych, made them aware of the situation, yes," Alicia says gently, moves around to stand beside Ange. "They'll send someone down here to assess her once we reach that stage, there's not an awful lot they can do for her at the moment…"

"I know that!" Ange snaps. "I know that, but when you look at her… sorry," she whispers. "Sorry, I know I'm being…"

"It's alright," Alicia assures her. "It's alright, it's perfectly understandable. Psych will be down to assess Chloe as soon as she's up to it, I promise. It's not just the self-harming we're concerned about," she explains quietly. "I think… Psych will make a recommendation once they've assessed her, but I think you have to keep in mind the circumstances under which she was brought in…"

"She's not just self-harming," Ange agrees, tucks Chloe's hair behind her ears. "Self-harming's one thing, but septic shock as a result of self-harm…" she shudders. "She should have known, she should have realised what it was long before things reached this point…"

"And Psych will make a recommendation with that in mind," Alicia assures her. "But I think you need to start getting your head around that. It's not just the self-harming and the septic shock, we're estimating that she's underweight, that with her electrolytes and her blood sugar… I think you may have prepare yourself for an immediate intervention of some description, once she's well enough."

Ange nods weakly. "It's my fault," she whispers. "I should have noticed, I should have said something, I… maybe I did notice, I don't know, I must have, I just dismissed it as the stress and the weird health kick her ex had her on for weeks when we weren't talking…"

"We missed it too," Nicky reminds her gently. She's perched herself on the edge of Chloe's hospital bed, reaches for her other hand. "We were living with her, for god's sake, and we still didn't put the pieces together, she's been… sometimes she'll insist she's not eating with us and she'll use the kitchen after we've left, or whatever, and there's not an awful lot of evidence that she actually has, and then other times she'll sit and she'll eat with us normally, I guess I just didn't question…"

"You couldn't have," Ange tells her, voice firm, no room for arguments. "You can't blame yourself, you saw what she wanted you to see. I'm her mother, that's different, I've been through this cycle with her before, albeit nothing quite like this. You couldn't have known…"

"Except we should have," Cameron says faintly. "We should have, we… the night Evan turned up at the flat and we had to call the police, he… he said that Chloe had mental health problems, he said she self-harmed, and we just… we dismissed it outright, we thought it was just him trying to manipulate the police officers into letting him stay…"

"You couldn't have known," Ange shakes her head. "It must have been the only honest thing to come out his mouth the whole time he was there, from what Chloe told me. And besides, she… she hides it well. She always has done. You couldn't have done anything more than you have. Honestly. Thank you. I mean it. I'm so grateful Chloe's had you two, I don't even want to think about what might have happened before now if she hadn't had you looking out for her."

"She's a friend." Nicky watches Chloe intently, almost as though she's hoping that if she wants it badly enough, if she wills her to, her friend will open her eyes. "You don't have to thank us. She's a friend, she'd do the same for us. Listen, I should get back upstairs," she sighs. "Probably best not to push it with Ms Naylor. But I… I can come back and see her again later, on my break?" she asks Ange hopefully. "If I ever get my break, I wouldn't put it past Ms Naylor to count this as my break, but if she does, I could come back and see her once I finish, if that's alright with you, I mean…"

"You can come back and visit her whenever you like, Nicky." Ange tries to smile, but all she manages is little more than a grimace. "You too, Cam. I think…" She closes her eyes, despairing. "I don't think she's going to be leaving this place any time soon."

"Okay. Okay, we'll be back later, then." Nicky smiles faintly, squeezes Chloe's hand. "You hang on in there Chloe, yeah? Cam and I will be back to see you later, promise. You'll get through this. And then we've got that date with a deep-fried mars bar on a beach in Aberdeen, remember? Or in a pub in Edinburgh. Or wherever you reckon does the best heart disease wrapped in newspaper. I'll see you really soon, Chloe, I promise."

"Nicky?" Ange asks suddenly, expression strange. "Did… before you go, did Chloe say anything to you about what she's been doing in Glasgow, this last week? Only I didn't even know she was in Scotland, I spoke to her what, it must have been the first day of her annual leave, she must have been up there then based on what my mum said when I spoke to her, she mentioned Chloe was up in Aberdeen with her for a few days. But then when I spoke to her on the phone, she was talking like she was in Holby, she almost came out for dinner with us- or I was trying to persuade her to come out for dinner with us, at least…"

"What?" Nicky frowns. "Scotland? No, I… I thought she was staying with you…" she turns to Cameron, expression thoroughly confused. "Didn't she say she was off to stay at Ange's for the week?"

Cameron nods. "I mean, we did think it was a bit odd. We were worried we'd upset her at first, but then she insisted there was nothing wrong, she just needed a change of scenery, and I guess… I don't know, I guess we just thought that after everything that's happened with Evan, all the trouble we've had with him at the flat and everything, she just wanted a change of scenery, or she just felt she needed to be with you…"

Ange shakes her head. "No. No, she… she was never at mine. She told me she was just going to have a quiet week off, I think she was hoping we might spend some time together but I just couldn't justify the annual leave in the end, so many of my theatre slots have been pushed back lately. We must have… I don't know. What the hell was she doing in Glasgow?" she sighs heavily. "I don't think she even knows anyone in Glasgow nowadays, I don't think she's been to Glasgow since the last time I took her, and that must have been when she was, I don't know, thirteen… Sorry. Sorry, I guess it doesn't matter now. You need to go. Sorry, I won't keep you…"

"It's okay. Honestly, it's okay. I understand," Nicky smiles sympathetically. "We'll be back later, won't we, Cam? Look after her," she tells Dom, grabs Cameron's hand, pulls him towards the door with her. "And look after her, too," she mouths, gestures to Ange as the two of them head back out into the corridor.

What does she think he's been trying to do?

It's as though he only seems to exist in relation to Chloe. It's as though they all seem to have bought into Ange's belief that the world must and does revolve entirely around Chloe, and perhaps he's selfish for even considering that it doesn't, when Chloe is the one in septic shock, Chloe's the one who could still slip away at any moment, frighteningly fragile. But even Ange compared to him… why is it him that has to look after his mother, why not the other way around? Rationally, of course, Dom knows exactly why, appreciates that it's not even remotely the same thing.

But he can't think rationally. Not in those moments, as Nicky and Cameron disappear back upstairs, as Serena and Alicia explain that they'll be back to check on Chloe later, murmur words of support to Ange, close the door gently behind them and it's just the three of them left, just their horribly dysfunctional, broken, disjointed family, favourite child fighting for her life in a hospital bed, their mother out of her mind with worry and him…

Where does that leave him?

They're silent again, for a few minutes, after that.

Ange is far too caught up in her daughter again to even notice Dom is still there, leans across from her chair at her bedside, rests her head beside Chloe's, arms around her, cuddles her like a small child- and this is going to destroy her, Dom realises, sinking feeling in his heart. This is going to tear her to pieces… if Chloe doesn't pull through…

"It's going to be alright," Ange murmurs. She reaches out carefully, fingers brush against Chloe's cheek. "Everything's going to be fine, sweetheart, I promise. We're going to get you through this. You're going to be absolutely fine, you're in the best hands possible. You just rest, okay? You've got nothing to worry about, let me deal with that. I am never, ever letting you out of my sight again. I mean it, Chloe. You can argue with me all you want once you're out of here, I'm not budging. At least for the first few weeks, anyway. I love you so, so much. Oh Chloe, what are we going to do with you?" she sighs, runs her fingers over the bandage under Chloe's left elbow. "I wish you'd told me. I wish you'd told me how bad things were, sweetheart, I could have helped… I'm here now, okay? I'm here now. I know I've been distracted lately, I know I haven't always been there for you, and I'm so, so sorry. But I'm here now. I promise. Whatever you need, I'm here. I'm your mum, that's my job, alright? That's always going to be my job. Things are going to start getting better now. You don't have to…" she sighs again, and she looks so lost, Dom ponders, completely and utterly lost, clinging onto Chloe as though without her she doesn't know what to do. "You don't have to hurt yourself anymore. That's what I'm here for, to stop you feeling like that's the only way you can cope. Everything's going to get better now, okay? I promise. We'll do it together. You don't have to do any of this on your own anymore. I'm going to fix everything…"

He can't take it anymore.

It's like he isn't even there.

His mother seems to have forgotten he's there entirely, too absorbed in Chloe to notice or care and yes, that makes sense, of course it does. But Ange has never looked at him like she's looking at Chloe now, never fussed over him like she's fussing over his little sister.

She's never loved him like she loves Chloe. That's what it boils down to. Chloe is the one born from a violation, fathered by a monster, must be a constant reminder for Ange of everything she had to go through to have her and still Chloe is her favourite child, still he's never going to live up to Chloe's lofty heights…

"Has it ever occurred to you that if you didn't baby her constantly, she wouldn't need you to fix everything?" Dom blurts out, frustrated, before he can stop himself.

Ange just stops, motionless, for several moments, finally looks up from Chloe to meet his gaze, expression nothing short of shocked. "Excuse me?"

"You know what I mean!" It's like the floodgates have opened now, Dom realises all-too-late. "You treat her like she's about six half the time, you're all over her like a rash, you never give her the chance to deal with her own problems and I don't think she even knows how, does she? She doesn't know how because you never let her try. Even when she's _fine_all by herself, you're all over her, I don't think you even realise you're doing it, do you? She doesn't need you to be clinging onto her arm like a leech every time she passes you in the hospital, for god's sake. She needs to learn to stand on her own two feet without needing Mummy hovering over to reassure her and pick up the pieces when she can't handle being an actual, proper adult by herself, or she's never going to…"

"That's enough, Dominic," Ange says quietly, voice firm, uncompromising. "That's enough. I won't have this in front of Chloe. And especially not like this. How I choose to…" she trails off, sighs, head in her hands for just the briefest of moments, as though she's realised there's no way out of this, that this conversation is doomed to end spectacularly badly. "There isn't a parenting rule book, there's no right or wrong way of doing much of it. How I choose to parent my daughter is none of your business, Dominic- and I'm sorry, I realise how harsh that sounds, but it needs to be said."

"I'm your…"

"You're my son, yes. And nothing will ever change that. I'll always be your mum. But you haven't been _my_child, Dominic. I gave up the right to be your mum, your real mum, the mum who got to raise you, when I signed the adoption papers. You haven't been mine for the last thirty years, Chloe has. And everyone approaches the whole parenting thing differently, perhaps the way I've chosen to do things isn't the same as how Carole and Barry did. And I want us to be a family, Dom, all three of us, I can't tell you how badly I've wanted that since I gave you up. But you do _not _get to criticise how I treat Chloe. That's none of your business, it would be none of your business whether you'd grown up together or not, so don't even go there…"

"Don't you think it's exactly what's caused this whole situation in the first place, though?" Dom accuses, and he's not even sure he believes everything he's saying himself now- or he does, perhaps he does believe it, has been observing and coming to this conclusion for weeks, but it's jealousy bringing it out of him like this, and maybe it all stems from jealousy, maybe that's all that's to it in reality, but he can't see the wood for the trees anymore, in too deep. "She's pathetic. I mean… okay, fine, so that isn't totally fair, but her tough act only gets her so far, as soon as something rattles her, she seems to alternate between looking to you to pick up the pieces and struggling through on her own until she gets herself into this state. Don't you see how easy it must have been for Evan to get her under his spell? She needs someone to hold her hand every five minutes because you've never taught her any different, she doesn't know _how_to stand up to him on her own…"

"Dominic…"

"Why is it?" Dom laughs, voice empty, cold. "Is it because of how you had her? Because you're never going to treat me like you treat Chloe, are you, it's like Chloe's the perfect one, Chloe's the favourite and I can't ever compete with that. So is it because of what she came from? Do you baby her out of some weird guilt complex, is that it? Is it because you feel like you have to make up for how she came about, or something, everything has to be perfect around Chloe because you can control that, you can smother her, but you can't change her father. And it's like you just can't see any of her flaws, you only notice mine. I'm never going to match up to Chloe's standards in your eyes, am I, I'm never going to be good enough, even though Chloe's the one with the psych issues and the total lack of ability to fight her own…"

But he's cut off, and before he can manage to utter anything else he'll almost certainly come to regret in just a few minutes, once he's calmed down, once he's gotten a grip and realised that if ever there was a time the world should revolve around his little sister, it's almost certainly now, Chloe's stats monitor bleeps loudly in protest.

"Out!" Ange instructs him, look of complete and utter fury in her eyes. "Out, now!"

He can't move. He's rooted to the spot, paralysed by pure panic, all his medical training apparently having left him and he can't focus, can't seem to think, can't make sense of the numbers on the monitor screen…

"She's fine, Dominic!" Ange snaps, seems to realise he isn't going anywhere all the while he's panicking. "Her blood pressure's dropped slightly, that's all, she's fine! But I'm not having you in here stressing her out like this, it's not fair…"

"We don't know I did that…" Dom protests weakly. He can't seem to move, knows he needs to get out of here fast before his mother loses her patience entirely, but he can't seem to spur himself into action, can't look away from Chloe's pale face.

His sister.

She's his sister, and he's never been good at sharing, certainly never had to share a parent before; is he making an awful, disastrous mess of it before he's even fully realising what he's doing himself…

"And we don't know you didn't, because we've got no idea how much she's hearing!" Ange glares at him furiously. "So, out! Now! I'm not having you in here while you're being like this, it's not fair on Chloe. And before you even start, yes, I'm putting Chloe first, because Chloe's the one in septic shock fresh off the back of her creep of a husband trying to attack her, and I'm sorry, but you're just going to have to accept that…" She trails off, expression suddenly horrified. "Has anyone actually called it that in front of her?"

"I don't know," Dom admits quietly. "I don't know, but… it's not going to make too much of a difference, is it?" he tries, comes to the sinking realisation that he's making it all even worse for himself only after it's too late to change tactic. "Even if she does have a degree of consciousness right now, the chances of her actually processing that are…"

"You know as well as I do it's not as simple as that!" Ange snaps, mother tiger protecting her favourite of her cubs- the runt of the litter, Dom decides bitterly, before he can help himself. "What are you still doing in here? Out, Dominic! I mean it! I want you out, now. You go and you calm down, and you stay out of my sight until you're ready to behave like an adult, not a spoilt child. _Chloe_has done nothing wrong. I understand you resenting me, and I can deal with that, you can resent me for giving you up for adoption and keeping Chloe all you like. But you do _not_get to take it out on her. None of this mess between the two of us is Chloe's fault, and I want you out of here until you can accept that. Now. I can't do this," she admits shakily, clings onto Chloe as though she's afraid the world will end the moment she lets go. "I'm not used to having to parent both of you at once. I don't know how to look after Chloe when she's like this and deal with you having a temper tantrum at the same time, and if that makes me a terrible mother, so be it. I can't do it. So please, just get out, before we both end up saying things we regret."

He does as she says, this time.

What other choice does he have?

Trance-like, unable to process it all, the mess he's created, he wanders through the corridors of the ED and around the building to the peace garden, broken, lost.

He's part of the problem. He does accept that. If Ange doesn't know how to cope with both her children at the same time, he certainly doesn't know how to be a brother, either. But then neither does Chloe know how to be a sister, he tells himself firmly, because Chloe isn't perfect, Ange can say whatever the hell she likes but Chloe most certainly isn't perfect…

His phone vibrates in his pocket, and he retrieves it, frowns when there's no message on the lock screen.

It takes Dom a few moments longer to realise that he still has Ange's phone beneath it.

It's going to be Peigi, he panics. It's going to be Peigi, and he's going to have to confess he's just had a raging row with her daughter about her granddaughter, in front of her granddaughter, just picked his own sister's character traits to pieces as though she wasn't there because she's too unresponsive to argue, she's hardly going to welcome him with open arms as her grandson after that…

But the text is from an unrecognised number.

_Hi Ange, it's Emina. Mum gave me your number. I'm worried about Chloe, she phoned me a few days ago and she was very upset. We've been texting a lot but I haven't heard from her since yesterday now. Just wanted to check she's ok, I don't want to bombard her but I'm worried. I'm still here if she wants to talk some more. Or I'm owed some annual leave, put her on a plane and send her over to me if you think a change of scenery might help? I'd take good care of her. But either way, let me know she's alright? I got the impression she's finding it all a bit much at the moment. If there's anything Mum and I can do, just say. You know where we are. Mum says to give her love to you and Chloe. _

You and Chloe, Dom notes sadly, hates himself that it's the first thing that springs to mind.

Not you, Chloe and Dominic.

You and Chloe.

_Come in, misery, where you can seem as old as your omens,_

_And the mother we share will never keep your proud head from falling,_

_The way is long, but you can make it easy on me,_

_And the mother we share will never keep our cold hearts from calling. _

_-The Mother We Share, Karine Polwart, Karine Polwart's Scottish Songbook. _

**Thank you so much Elleigator and guest for your lovely reviews! And I hope you all don't hate me too much for this one! I really wanted to try and dissect Ange's relationships with her children in this one- I've only been watching Holby for a couple of months so I've been going back to watch old episodes as I've written this, and one thing that really stood out to me is that ever since she arrived, Ange has been very hands on with Chloe, quite literally. And I can completely see why that might be difficult for Dom to be around. **

**The text Ange receives at the end is going to be important in the next chapter- all will become ****clear! I just wanted to give it to you through Dom's perspective of not knowing who these people are and feeling that in another life he should first. **

**As ever, reviews would be much appreciated, and constructive criticism/suggestions/requests are also welcome! **

**-IseultLaBelle x**


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

**Glasgow, One Week Earlier**

"I've got the photocopy ready for you. Are you sure you want to take this with you?" Fiona the archivist asks worriedly. "Chloe? I won't charge you if you've changed your mind, I can put it through the shredder…"

"No." Chloe shakes her head firmly, fidgets with her hands, trying desperately to stop them from shaking. "No, I'm sure. I want to take it."

Fiona sighs sympathetically. "Okay. Okay, I've put it in one of our folders for you- you won't have to look at it, that way," she explains. "Not if you don't want to. I thought that might be better."

"You didn't have to do that."

"I know. But I wanted to." Fiona pauses for a moment, contemplates her next move. "Mum or dad?" she asks carefully at last.

Chloe shudders, voice trembles, heavy with emotion. "Try both."

She's trying so desperately hard not to cry, determined that she won't until she's out of here, locked away in her hotel room, but she just can't quite manage it, eyes filling with tears and she has to get this over with, has to get out of here before she loses control completely.

The archivists, everyone else here, come to that, must already think she's a right idiot.

Fiona shakes her head, adamant. "No," she tells Chloe firmly. "No. If she's your mum, sweetheart, then he isn't your dad. It doesn't matter what biology says. DNA doesn't make a father, only nurture does that. You might share half your genetic makeup with that man, but he'll never be your father."

Chloe wants to believe her.

She really does.

But she can't.

She can't, because it feels as though she's ripped open a wound that can never heal, not now, as though what she's seen, she'll never be able to un-see, as though finally, she understands.

This is what her mum sees, whenever she looks at her. This is what she represents to her, to her own mother. She's a monster, an abomination, pure evil, she should never have been born…

Why didn't her mum just get rid of her? If she couldn't abort her, if it was all too late and she couldn't bear the thought of going through with that anyway, why didn't she dump her on Social Services the moment she was born, move on with her life, never look back, forget all about her? Why did her mum go through all the trouble she did trying to raise a baby alongside her Highers and her Advanced Highers, play part-time parent around her medical school studies for her when all she's ever been, all she ever will be is an awful reminder of what happened to her, of the man who raped her, of that period of living hell? Why didn't she just cast her out, why did she keep her?

How could she even bear it?

It can't be because of all the pain she went through giving up Dominic.

It just can't be.

It doesn't make sense. Her mum has given her that explanation every time they've been over this since she learnt of her brother's existence, but Chloe doesn't believe it, not even for a moment.

There's no comparison. Dominic would have been a tiny, adorable baby, and yes, Chloe completely accepts her mother's insistence that becoming a mother at fourteen is a whole new level of difficult, but at least she loved Dominic's father. At least he was conceived from a place of love, a time of happiness, at least that moment in itself provided her with happy memories. If her mother had only had Dominic a few years later, closer to the age she'd had her, then she would have kept him and she might not even have existed at all, Chloe is sure of it.

Her mum wouldn't have been out roaming the streets of Glasgow late at night, all alone and horribly vulnerable, if she'd had a baby at home to look after. She would never have been raped, or even if she had, she would have had to be strong for Dominic, for her existing baby, for the one she really wanted. She would have taken action quickly, gotten rid of Chloe fast before she even properly existed, would never have missed her, because she was never meant to be born, never meant to be imposed upon her mother.

Ange would have been happier. She would have had the baby she wanted, not the one she was lumbered with, her, the constant reminder.

Why didn't she just give her away? She could have had another baby, once she was older, graduated from medical school, stable, happy, in a solid relationship.

She could have had a baby conceived from love, not violence and abuse and hate.

Her mum should never have kept her, Chloe decides frantically, mind racing as she drives back over to the hotel, slips in through the entrance when Moira the landlady isn't looking, doesn't trust herself not to burst into tears the moment anyone asks her if she's alright. Her mum should never, ever have kept her, she should have put her up for adoption the moment she was born, handed her straight over into foster care, never even taken her home from the hospital.

Why didn't she? How can she bear to look at her every day, how can she possibly love her, care about her when she is what she is, when she's a monster, when half of her internally is an awful, unspeakable monster and externally, she's…

Her phone vibrates as she places it down on the table beside the sofa, pack of tissues in one hand, mug of tea in the other, plans to kick off her shoes, curl up and do nothing but cry, needs to let it out somehow, doesn't think she's ever felt so hopeless, so unwanted, so… so _dirty_, evil, worthless.

Mum, her phone tells her, and it's almost as if her mum knew, in that moment, as though there's some kind of strange connection between them.

_Love you gorgeous girl xxx_

She doesn't mean it, Chloe tells herself.

She can't let herself believe her mum really means it, it's only going to hurt too much later when it becomes apparent she's right.

Her mum doesn't love her. Not really.

How can she, when she comes from what she does, when she's _him_?

She's looked after her all these years, gone above and beyond for her when she never should have had to because she's just too kind-hearted and keen to look after everyone else for her own good, but she can't possibly love her.

She's done amazingly just to have made it twenty-nine years able to look at her without feeling nothing but pure hatred, Chloe realises sadly, chest beginning to tighten, panic attack coming and she doesn't know how to stop it, doesn't even know if she wants to stop it, not anymore.

Her mum doesn't love her. She _can't_love her. Not when she's such a monster. She's sent her that text purely because she feels guilty after their fallout earlier this morning, or maybe it's because she's struggling today, struggling with what happened to her thirty years ago and she's reaching out for comfort and reassurance, but it's not her she wants, not really.

Even if she doesn't realise it herself just yet.

Her mum doesn't need her. Not her, not her daughter conceived from an awful, violent attack that never should have happened, her constant reminder of the man who raped her. She needs her son, and her boyfriend, her new family, her _real_family, and there's no place in that for her monster of a daughter, she'll realise that soon enough.

Maybe it's better if she just disappears. Maybe she should just leave her mum and Dom and Fletch to it, quietly fade away, apply for another job at a hospital as far away as she can manage and they'll barely notice she's gone, and even when they do they won't miss her, too relieved that she's out of the picture. Dom will have their mum purely to himself, exactly how he wants it, and her mum will finally be free of the horrible burden, the reminder, she's been stuck with for the past twenty-nine years.

She'll be so much happier without her, even if she doesn't realise it yet.

She needs to go, Chloe tells herself. She needs to get away from here, let her mum be happy, and she can't.

She just can't, because she needs her, because she's in full-breakdown mode, she knows she is, and she just wants her mum, desperately needs her mum…

But her mum desperately needs her to keep away.

Evan was right, she's toxic. It must all come from how she came into the world, she's like _him_, like her father. She and her mum aren't good for each other, and if she really loved her mum, if she truly wanted her to be happy, she'd stay away, give her mum a chance to start again with a proper family, be truly at peace…

She wants to cut.

It's exactly what she deserves.

She just wants all the pain she's feeling to go away, just wants to feel at peace again, just for a moment.

Hands shaking furiously, barely able to hold her phone still for long enough to type out a response, she unlocks her phone, fumbles, replies to her mum's message.

_I hope you have a nice evening with Dom and Fletch. Love you too xxx_

She says it because it's true.

She does love her. She loves her desperately, and that's why she needs to keep away, but that has to come from her mum.

She's caused her enough pain already just by being here, after all.

She's sobbing helplessly now, struggling to breathe, torn between holding herself together as she knows she should and the blade she packed in the bottom of her suitcase, the photocopy in the folder she threw onto the bed when she let herself back into her hotel room that might just be equally as lethal.

Chloe has deliberately avoided opening up the folder since she left the archive, hasn't laid eyes on its contents since she first saw the original in the reading room, since it reduced her to a complete and utter wreck.

She doesn't trust herself. She knows full well that the moment she allows herself to read through it again, properly, this time, she'll be looking up the address, making plans, and whether there's any coming back from that, she really isn't sure.

It could be just around the corner. She could have already driven past, walked through, even, on her way back from the bar last night and she wouldn't have known, she could have…

Chloe shudders, scratches at her forearms furiously.

She can't let herself do either of those things.

They're self-harming, both of them, just in different ways.

Either way, she's torturing herself, tearing herself apart because she hates herself, can't cope with where she came from and she can't let herself do it, can't give in but she doesn't know how to stop herself …

That folder on her bed, the razor blade in her suitcase, are screaming out to her to succumb to them, surrender, tear herself apart and Chloe just can't take it.

She can't do this.

She doesn't want this to claim her, wants to keep fighting, desperately wants to believe that the voices in her head are just trying to trick her and her mum does love her, isn't going to cast her aside sooner or later now she has her perfect firstborn child back, the one who wasn't conceived from rape, isn't like looking into the eyes of a monster.

And yet at the same time, Chloe is sure that version of events she's trying so hard to cling to can't possibly be true.

How could her mum ever really love her when she came from _that_?

How can she possibly blame her for resenting her?

She can't, Chloe decides. She can't resent her mum, needs to let them slowly grow apart, now she has her baby back.

But it hurts.

It hurts, and she wants to torture herself some more, and fighting the voices in her head urging her on is utter torture, a battle she knows she's going to lose.

The folder on her bed and all it contains is tormenting her.

There's only one person who might understand.

Frantically, Chloe reaches for her phone, scrolls through her contacts, tears falling onto the screen, messing up the calibration.

Her heart sinks as the international dialling tone turns to voicemail.

"Emina," she whispers, voice trembling, doesn't even care about masking her inevitable, looming panic attack any longer, breaths coming in horrible, sharp gasps, can't control it. "Emina, it's Chloe. I… I think I'm about to do something really stupid."

When she puts down the phone, there's another text from her mum waiting for her.

_Love you more. You're still my baby, Chloe xxx_

**So in the strangest turn of events EVER, the song playing in this week's episode when Fletch finds the hidden camera footage of Chloe's flat was The Mother We Share. I had to watch it back and check the about the episode page to make sure because it was so, so weird, it's one of those weird Scottish songs no one has ever heard of by a Scottish band no one has ever heard of either. So either the producers and I are totally on the same wavelength, or they're on fanfiction! Either way, it was slightly freaky to watch! **

**With that in mind, now seems like a good enough time to say that I named this story after that song because it's really supposed to be Chloe and Dom's shared story, both through their relationship with each other and their relationships with Ange. But particularly how they view each other's relationships with Ange, and that difficult dynamic. You might have noticed every chapter so far has ended with the same word. Sadly I'm going to have to abandon that soon because I am going to give you some flashbacks to Dom's early years, but hopefully even if you haven't noticed it, you've picked up on the dominance of that narrative. **

**Thank you so much Fred, Meg and Elle for your wonderful reviews, I'm so glad you're still enjoying this story. You may have already seen, I also have a new Holby fan fiction, Baby Bird Flies The Nest, which is kind of a merge between a deleted scene from this story and a fun project I've been planning with my friend after Holby this week :) **

**As ever, your thoughts on this one would be much appreciated. And if you have a preference between Dom or Ange's viewpoint for the next chapter, please do say! **

**-IseultLaBelle x **


	8. Chapter 8

**I meant to give you this chapter as well when I uploaded last night and I completely forgot- I'm sorry! But you get it now! **

**Ciorstaidh is an old Scots Gaelic name, pronounced Keer-stee. **

**S5 is when you take your Highers in the Scottish school system, which are kind of the equivalent of A levels. You can then go straight to university, but most students choose to stay at school for S6 first and do their Advanced Highers. You do not want to know how long I spent on various Scottish websites trying to figure this out! **

**You really can study Gaelic Studies with Anglo-Saxon Studies (and King Arthur!) at Aberdeen University. I only discovered this when I was doing research for this story and it's too late for me now, but this might just have to be my retirement plan. Take your baby to lectures is also very much a thing- there was a story in the news the other week about a Scottish student who did just that throughout her degree. AND she got a first! **

**I've only seen series 21 of Holby, but I'm reliably informed by my best friend that Dom changed his name from Darren as an adult. Please accept my sincere apologies if we have this incorrect! **

**This chapter was very much an experiment, so if you would like more like this, and if you have any requests or prompts for them, please do let me know! **

**-IseultLaBelle**

**Chapter 8**

**Glasgow, May 1990**

"And where do you think you're going, madam?" Peigi Godard demands, grabs her daughter's arm, holds her back gently as she makes a beeline for the front door. "I thought we agreed, I've got no issue with you coming and going as you please. That's fine. But I do expect you to let me know where you're going, and at least give me a rough idea of when you're going to be back and if you're going to want me to feed you later, please."

Angel pouts at her furiously. "You won't like it."

"All the more reason I expect you to tell me, then. If you're off down the disused railway bridge to see those mates of yours again, then I'm warning you…"

"I'm not!" Angel snaps. "I'm…" She sighs loudly, eyes suddenly fixed on the floorboards. "I'm going to the hospital," she admits, after a long pause. "And I wasn't going to tell you because I knew exactly what you'd say, and I don't care. You can make it impossible for me to keep her all you like, but you can't stop me from seeing her while she's in hospital. Social Services said they won't do anything in the first six weeks anyway, so I can keep visiting her all I want to, she's still mine."

Peigi inhales sharply, prepares herself for a fight. "She'll always be yours. They both will. And that's not what I said, Angel. I haven't been trying to make it impossible for you to keep her. I've just been trying to get you to think about this realistically. You know how much you struggled before, with Darren…"

"I was _fourteen_, Mum! That was three years ago, I wasn't ready then…"

"And I'm not saying you aren't ready now," Peigi sighs. "That's not what I've been trying to say. I've been trying to make you see that you have to think about the rest of it…"

"You said you wouldn't have me living under your roof with her if I wasn't getting an education…"

"Because look what happened with Darren!" Peigi protests. "We looked into all the options, didn't we, when you had Darren. I wasn't trying to force you into anything, Angel, I was merely pointing out that you have to think about all the reasons you made the decision you did with Darren. You're too bright to drop out of school. I mean, you've practically dropped out of school this year you've done so much bunking off, but that's not really the point. And I don't think it's a good idea for you to drop out of school to be a full-time mum again, not after what it did to your mental state last time. I was only trying to make you see that we were going to run into all the same problems we did last time with you getting any kind of education. I can't afford to just give up my job to be your babysitter. And besides, if you'd just let me…"

"It's different now!" Angel rages. "I'm seventeen! I've got my Standard exams, it's not like I'd be dropping out of school with no qualifications…"

"But you know as well as I do that if you drop out with Ciorstaidh now, you won't be getting anything more than that, and you have to remember how miserable you were when you were at home with Darren all day. You need the structure. For you, for your personality, you need the structure, you need more social interaction, you actually missed school last time, remember? Remember what it was like with Darren. You were lonely, you were depressed, you were begging to go back to school by the end, and we couldn't make it work, could we? You already know from Darren that if you drop out of school to look after Ciorstaidh, you're going to be…"

"I'm not calling her Ciorstaidh. She'll spend her entire life spelling it out if she ever leaves Scotland, for a start…"

"Well, she hasn't got a name, has she? We've been through this. Countless times. You haven't given her a name, so I'm calling her Ciorstaidh for the time being. If you feel that strongly about it, you can…"

"I'm not naming her." Angel glares at her, furious. "I'm not naming her if you're just going to make me give her up for adoption."

"I'm not making you do anything you don't want to do," Peigi sighs. "She's your baby. It's not my decision to make. And if you'd just…"

"I can't give her up for adoption, Mum!" Her daughter bursts into tears out of nowhere, and she should have predicted this, Peigi curses herself, should have got through to her before they reached this point.

She's hormonal, she's traumatised; she's just given birth, for god's sake. She's just given birth _again_, trapped in the same nightmare she had to endure three years ago, except it's worse this time, worse because she's been through it all once, knows how painful this can be, and worse because of how it's all happened, because of how the tiny, poorly baby they've had to leave in the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit came into the world, and she must still be in shock…

Peigi knows she's still in shock herself, at the very least. And if she's still in shock, how much worse must it be for her daughter…

"Angel…"

"I can't go through that again!" Angel sobs. "I love her, Mum! And I get it, I get what you've been trying to say, but I don't care if she looks like him! She's _my _baby. She's nothing to do with him…"

"Of course she isn't," Peigi agrees, torn internally, desperate to pull her into a tight hug and comfort her and under normal circumstances she would, but things have been so doubly strained between them since all this kicked off that she's afraid she'll only make it all worse. "She's a tiny baby. She isn't defined by what he did, none of it's her fault. How can it be? But I stand by what I said, you do have to think about it. Ciorstaidh's still too little to know who she's going to look like, you have to consider how you might feel if she ends up being the spitting image of…"

"I won't care," Angel tells her firmly through her tears. "She's not him, Mum. She's an entirely different human being, she's not going to be anything like him, it doesn't matter who she looks like. I love her. I want to be her mum, I _need_to be her mum. I can't go through that again. And I know what you're going to say. I know she's not Darren, I know she can't replace him. I don't want a replacement, I want _her_. I'm almost an adult, it's totally different this time. I…" she trails off, sad, haunted expression in her eyes. "I know what it's going to be like this time, don't I? I know I want to keep her, I know I can't live with anything else, I can't just hand her over like I did with Darren and…"

"I know," Peigi agrees softly, gives in, places her hands on her daughter's shoulders. "I know. Despite what you seem to think, I have been listening. So will you please just hear me out?"

"No, I won't! I'm going to see my baby, and you can't stop me…"

"And I'm not going to," Peigi tells her firmly. "Will you just stop for a moment and listen? Come and sit down and listen, I'll give you a lift to the hospital, okay? You don't want to take the bus in this rain."

Angel frowns at her sullenly, unsure. "Why?"

Peigi takes a deep breath. "Because I've got an offer to put to you. So, will you please listen? Five minutes, alright? You hear me out for five minutes, and then I'll give you a lift to the hospital."

Reluctantly, Angel follows her into the living room, lowers herself gingerly onto the sofa.

"Listen," Peigi tries quietly. "I know. I can see how much you want to keep her, it's been written all over your face these past few days. And I don't want you to have to go through everything you did with Darren, either. I get it. So, here's the deal, okay? I'm moving to Aberdeen," she blurts out, suddenly aware that she should have thought this through properly, planned it all, that she's only going to send her daughter into a further rage in her misunderstanding if she isn't careful. "I'm moving to Aberdeen in August, and I know what you're thinking, but listen. Please, give me a chance to explain what I'm thinking. I've put in a last-minute application to read Gaelic Studies with Celtic and Anglo-Saxon Studies at the University of Aberdeen, and amazingly, they've given me a place. And yes, Angel, yes, I can see the look on your face, yes, it's a real degree. And no, I'm not going to be the only student on the course."

"Are you sure?" Angel raises her eyebrows sceptically.

"Yes, I'm sure. I'll get a student loan, and I've got your father's death in service pay-out sat in a bank account doing nothing, I might as well spend it. And anyway, I can carry on with the dance teaching on the side. Maybe even the yoga teaching, we'll see. But I'm finally doing it. I'm quitting my job, I'm becoming a student as my midlife crisis, I'm going to do what I've always wanted. What I should have done years ago, I should never have let your grandparents convince me secretarial college was a better option than spending four years up to my eyeballs in Gaelic folk tales and the legends of King Arthur. Well, maybe it was, career-wise, but I know which one will make me happier. And sometimes it's just about what's going to make you happier, isn't it? Fuck the career prospects. All this with you and Ciorstaidh's made me realise that much."

Angel just stares at her, as though she thinks she's lost her mind well and truly.

"So, this is the plan," she tells her daughter. "You've got a choice. If you don't like it, fine, you can apply for social housing here, you and Ciorstaidh can sort yourselves out. Or you can come with me. I've spoken to the local school, they're willing to take you in August. You can re-start S5 there, make a proper go of your Highers. Don't even ask me about the strings I had to pull to arrange that. But that means you could write off this school year altogether. You could drop out now, take the next few months off with Ciorstaidh and have a fresh start in August. If you wanted to, that is. I've spoken to the Gaelic Studies co-ordinator at Aberdeen, and, well, I may have lied a tiny bit. I implied she's my baby. I didn't actually say that!" she protests at the thunderous look on her daughter's face. "I just… well, she is mine, isn't she? My granddaughter. I just bent the truth a little. Anyway, the course co-ordinator is fantastic. She's a huge believer in encouraging old has-beens like me into higher education, she's agreed I can bring the baby to my classes, as long as I take her out when she screams. It's not totally unheard of to have to bring a baby to class, apparently, even for the students more your age. So she'd better not be a screamer."

"She doesn't scream," Angel says quietly. "Not like Darren did. She just kind of… mews. A bit like a kitten. A really poorly kitten."

"That's just because she's so tiny, sweetheart. Give her a month or so and she'll work it out, you'll see. But do you think that could work?" Peigi tries. "We both get what we want then, don't we? I'll have Ciorstaidh during the day while you're at school, you can still get your education, and you'll know she's being looked after. And I can finally live out my university dreams at the grand old age of thirty-nine. I'll be at uni until she's starting school, practically, that gives you plenty of time to finish school, even get halfway through your own degree, if that's what you want. Then you've only got the school holidays to worry about. And you get a fresh start, this way. We can both get out of Glasgow, we can start again. You can be Ciorstaidh's mum. If you're absolutely certain you want to keep her, then this way, you can. And you don't have to drop out of school to do it."

"You'd really do that?" Angel whispers, the faintest trace of a smile on her lips. "You'd really do that for me?"

"Well, I've already got my heart set on the Gaelic Studies. But yes," Peigi tells her daughter. "Yes, I would. For both of you. I think you've proven to me over the last few days you're serious about stepping up and being a mother. And I… I think you're in a much better place now than you were three years ago. I think you're mature enough to make it work this time. But you do everything- and I mean it, Angel, I mean absolutely everything- for Ciorstaidh when you're not at school and you're not studying for your exams. I'll take care of her when you're busy with school, like I said, we'll take a view on what happens if you want to go to university further down the line. But that's it. The rest of the time Ciorstaidh's your responsibility. I'm not getting up with her, I'm not changing her when you can't be bothered, I'm not doing her laundry, I'm not having her dumped on me whenever you want to see your mates. If you want to go out, you're taking her with you. And if you want to go out somewhere that's no place for a wee one, you aren't going. I'll have her occasionally if I don't have plans of my own, and we agree it in advance. And you'll have my full support, of course you will. But I'm only looking after her for you when you're getting your education. You're Ciorstaidh's mum, you're her only parent and you know that's what you're signing up for, so you take care of everything else by yourself. That's not up for discussion if you're serious about keeping her. Do we have a deal?"

There's silence for a few moments, and at first, Peigi doesn't think she's going to go for it.

"Yes," her daughter agrees at last. "Yes, we do. But I'm not calling her Ciorstaidh."

"So you keep saying. Come up with something better, then," Peigi offers. "Come up with a better name for her, and I'll stop calling her Ciorstaidh. We can't keep calling her the baby, can we?"

"Chloe," Angel says quietly, thoughtful, reaches for her bag, throws her mother the car keys. "I think her name's Chloe."


	9. Chapter 9

**Just to say this is the third chapter I've posted in the last three days (no, I don't know how I've managed to write so fast this weekend either!)- if you haven't read the chapter with Chloe leaving the archives and the chapter set in 1990, please go back and read those first or the next few chapters will make no sense! **

**Chapter 9**

"Chloe? Chloe, can you hear me, sweetheart? Can you squeeze my hand? Chloe? Chloe, can you try and squeeze my hand?"

But Chloe just lies motionless, pale, no indication at all that she's aware of her mother's presence.

It's with an awful sinking feeling that Ange realises this is the most peaceful she's seen her daughter's features in months.

Because she does look peaceful. She looks horribly thin, fragile, as though the slightest heavy-handed manoeuvre from the ED team might cause a dislocation, a break, or goodness only knows what, so pale and skin devoid of colour she's practically grey, lips chapped, eyes closed, the toll the septic shock has taken on her horribly apparent, even without taking into consideration the ventilator, the dialysis machine, the surgical dressings, the pulse oximeter, the feeding tube, fluid drip, the intravenous antibiotics and everything else Ange doesn't want to think about.

Chloe looks peaceful. She looks as though all of her troubles of the past few months have left her at last, as though she's just sleeping, finally emerging from the end of a long, dark tunnel to be bathed in sunlight again at last and she's happy, secure, mentally stable, self-harm free, just needs to come to and then everything will be fine…

The reality, of course, is so very different.

"It's okay," Ange murmurs softly. She squeezes Chloe's hand, knows full well that her daughter won't be returning the gesture, but somehow, she can't quite shake free of the faintest trace of hope. "It's okay, sweetheart. Everything's okay. It's Mum. Mummy's here, sweetheart, I'm not going anywhere. I'm staying right here with you, alright? You're going to be fine. You just rest for as long as you need to. And then everything's going to start getting better once you wake up, okay? I promise. Everything's going to get better. I know I've let you down, and I'm so, so sorry. But it's never going to happen again. Okay? I'm never going to let you down like this again…"

She trails off, fingers brush absentmindedly along Chloe's arm, come into contact with the bandage around her elbow.

She swallows hard.

She knew. That's the worst of it. Her heart sank the first time she realised Chloe had come into work with a long-sleeved layer beneath her scrub top because she knew exactly what it meant, and she'd failed spectacularly when it came to actually doing something about it.

Chloe hadn't been talking to her back then, admittedly. That had been the day of Dom's ill-fated attempt to break the ice, the day he'd lured Chloe into theatre with the two of them and persuaded her to join them for lunch, the day Ange had realised just how badly the news of Dom's existence had devastated her daughter.

She should never have let Evan take her home that night.

She should have fought harder.

She should have absolutely insisted that Chloe come home with her the moment Evan told her that he'd caught Chloe about to cut herself, should have bundled her into the passenger seat of her car kicking and screaming if that was what it took. She should have taken her home, cuddled her, reassured her, done whatever her baby girl needed her to do to prevent it all coming to this.

Because she knew Chloe was hurting, Ange curses herself.

She knew how upset Chloe was, knew that day she was doubting that she'd ever loved her like she loved Dominic, and maybe she never did enough to put a stop to those fears; not then, when Chloe wasn't talking to her, and certainly not since.

It all became about Evan, after that, when they were finally on speaking terms again, Ange realises, bile rising in her throat.

The day she finally had Chloe talking to her again was the same day Evan manipulated her daughter into marrying him, and then all hell broke loose.

They never had a chance to talk through all the hurt and misunderstanding that came with the revelation that Dominic was her long-lost son, Chloe's big brother she'd never known about.

She never got around to reiterating to Chloe how much she loves her, how much she's always loved her for _her_, not as a replacement, not because she'd already given up Dominic for adoption, not because she wanted her first baby back and Chloe would simply do, but because she loved her, wanted _her_, her beautiful, perfect youngest child she wouldn't change for anything.

Did they ever resolve all that?

They never talked about it. They moved straight on to all the drama with Evan and they never looked back, never revisited those issues again.

Did Chloe get over all those initial fears?

Ange can't shake that worry, no matter how hard she tries.

Did Chloe ever calm down enough to see the wood for the trees again, realise that all her fears were totally baseless?

Does she still believe she doesn't love her? Or doesn't love her like she loves Dominic, at least?

Ange doesn't even want to think about that.

"Chloe? Chloe, I need you to listen to me, sweetheart. I love you. I love you so, so much, and…" she sighs, surrenders, can't force out the words. "We need to talk about all this properly, don't we? Everything with Dom, everything I kept from you. I meant to talk to you about it all properly, I really did, but then everything with Evan happened and… sorry, sweetheart," Ange sighs, grips Chloe's hand tightly, suddenly afraid that the mere mention of Evan is going to send her into a panic again. "I've made a total mess of all this, haven't I? I'm so sorry. I never meant to make you feel second-best, Chloe, I need you to know that. I love you so much. I always have, that's… that's not because of what happened with Dominic. I love _you._ I love you because you're you, Chloe, I wouldn't change you for anything. I don't want you ever to think any different. You weren't forced on me. I didn't keep you because of how I had you, I kept you because I loved you. I wanted you. It took me over a week to win your nana over, and I kept fighting her because I knew I loved you too much to let you go. I couldn't do that again. Not with you. You were tiny, you were perfect, and I wanted_you_. That's never going to change. Me having Dominic back won't ever change that, okay? How I had you both doesn't matter. You're _my_daughter. And I'm so, so proud of you, you know that? I know I don't tell you that enough, but that _will_change, alright?"

Chloe's stats machine bleeps rhythmically, the only indication that she's still there at all, that she might be able to understand.

"We're going to get you some help," Ange promises. She's stroking Chloe's hand gently around the cannulas, but mentally, she's scanning her arms, paranoid that there are more cuts the ED team have missed.

She feels as though she's been dragged back fifteen years, struggling as it is to deal with Chloe's sudden onslaught of panic attacks at fourteen and blaming herself, just walked in on her daughter trembling, curled up on her bed in just her bra, trance-like, severed scissor-blade in one hand, bloody tissues in the other and filled with a mixture of complete and utter horror and an awful sense of being so totally out of her depth and an ancient, instinctive, maternal urge to grab the scissor-blade and throw it out of Chloe's bedroom window, pull her into her arms and never let her go again, hold her tight, take away all of her pain.

"I promise, Chloe," Ange murmurs. Her hair needs brushing, she ponders absentmindedly, and someone has clearly tried to remove her makeup with a baby wipe but now her skin is red and flaking and teenage-territory oily all at once.

"As soon as you're well enough, we're going to get you some help, okay? I know you must have been feeling so…" she shakes her head, can't quite bring herself to say it, scared she's going to make it all worse if she even tries, if she breaks down, that she's only going to make Chloe feel guilty, if she's even aware enough to process it all. "And I'm so, so sorry you didn't feel you could tell me. I would have helped, sweetheart. I don't blame you for not telling me, I know I haven't exactly been… approachable, lately. I know I've let you down. I'm not used to being your mum and being Dom's mum at the same time, and I know I've made a total mess of it, but I promise I'm going to be better from now on, okay? I don't ever want you to feel like you can't tell me how you're feeling. Or that… that hurting yourself is the answer. And if this is because of how I've handled everything, if you've been hurting yourself because of me, because of everything that's happened with Dominic…"

Ange shudders, clings onto Chloe's hand. She drapes her other arm gently over her still form, struggling to work out how to comfort her without pressing down on her surgery wound, causing her more pain, logistical nightmare.

"I know it's my fault," she confesses. "I know this is all my fault, and I can't tell you how sorry I am. I handled everything so badly, you should never have been made to feel like your only option was to go back to self-harming. I should never have made you feel like that. But it's never, ever going to happen again, Chloe. Never again, I promise. I love you so much, I never meant to hurt you. We're going to get you better, alright? Not just this, I mean everything. We're going to get you through the worst of this, and then we'll get you some help, so you don't feel like you need to hurt yourself anymore. Okay? It's worked before, hasn't it? You're going to be fine, we just need to get you through this infection, and then we'll get you some proper help, we'll get your anxiety back under control and everything will be fine. Everything's going to be fine, Chloe, you'll see. Everything's going to be fine."

There's a gentle knock on the door of Chloe's hospital room, and then Fletch appears in the doorway, face white.

"Sorry," He whispers. "I'm so sorry, I was in theatre with Jac, I've only just heard. I… I wasn't sure whether I should come down or not, I don't want to get in the way, I sent you a couple of texts, not that I was expecting a reply or anything, I totally get you've had other things on your mind, but I thought I'd come down and just check if you…"

"It's alright," Ange says quietly, beckons him into the room. "It's alright, I… Dom's still got my phone," she realises. "I… Dom's… we had a bit of an argument, I told him to go and get some air and calm down, I didn't want that around Chloe… he must still have my phone…"

She's trying so hard to look at him, make eye contact, but every time she looks away from Chloe she's filled with an overwhelming sense of panic.

"It's fine," Fletch insists, and he's trying to keep his voice level, keep calm, fill her with a sense of reassurance that everything is going to be alright, Ange can tell that much, but even so, his own panic is painfully evident. "It's fine, honestly. If you want me to go, I can do, I just thought you might want…"

"It's okay," Ange whispers. "It's okay. Stay?"

She looks away from Chloe just long enough to see him nod, cross the room, stand beside her next to Chloe's hospital bed.

"How is she?" Fletch asks quietly.

"She's… she's…"

She can't even bring herself to say it.

"She's… not good," Ange forces out at last. "I don't know how much you know…"

"I spoke to Nicky, once I got out of theatre," Fletch explains. His hands rest on her shoulders gently, massage, helpless, nothing else he can do or say to make any of this nightmare even the tiniest bit better. "She told me… she thought I knew, I think, she was talking about Serena having Chloe in theatre earlier and she thought I knew, I hadn't heard, I must have been prepping for theatre around the time she collapsed… I would have come down sooner…"

"It's fine. It's fine, I was in theatre, too," Ange tells him shakily, overcome with guilt. "When she collapsed and she was admitted down here. They were more or less certain what it was, by the time I knew, they just hadn't realised how bad it was then. But thank god Dom was there." She shudders, doesn't even want to think about it, tightens her grip on Chloe's hand. "If Dom hadn't been there to catch her she would have fallen down the stairs, by the sound of it…"

"But he was," Fletch reminds her gently. "He was, and she didn't, did she? She's alright- in that respect, at least. She didn't…?"

"No. No, Dom caught her, there's no damage from that. But she's…" Ange shakes her head.

She feels so horribly panicky. She feels as though the world is ending, painfully aware of her heart pounding in her chest, shaky, throat tightening, hearing a little muffled… and is this how Chloe feels? Ange wonders with a sinking feeling, because suddenly, it's as though she can finally understand.

Is this how Chloe feels when she's approaching a panic attack, anxiety heightened… is this why she struggles as much as she does? Is this why her breathing always goes first, does this sensation just keep getting worse and worse until she's struggling to breathe, is half the problem then that she's struggling to breathe by that point and it only causes her to panic more, pushes her further and further beyond the point of being able to talk herself out of it…

She can't breathe.

Her breath is catching in her throat every time she tries and she can't breathe, she can't breathe…

Chloe is going to die.

Her beautiful little girl is in septic shock and she isn't improving as she should be, even post-surgery she isn't improving fast enough and she's going to die, her baby is going to die and it'll be all her fault…

"Ange?" Fletch asks worriedly. "Ange, breathe."

But she can't breathe.

How is she supposed to breathe when Chloe is so dangerously ill, when Chloe…

Chloe…

Chloe.

**Experimenting with an Ange viewpoint chapter because I know a few of you wanted to see this. I know I've bombarded you with chapters over the last few days, so if I'm giving you too many at once please do let me know! **

**Thank you so much Fred and guest for your reviews on the last chapter- guest, I wish I could reply to you properly! But as I can't, that's exactly what I've always thought with Ange's relationships with Dom and Chloe, too. I think she's been so focused on the awful situation Chloe came out of and making everything perfect for her almost to compensate (and maybe even to compensate for how things ended with her first baby) that she's shut everything with Dom out, and she doesn't know how to be his mum in the same way she is Chloe's. It's really lovely to see someone else thinking about things the same way you are when you're writing, so thank you SO much for saying this! **

**As ever, reviews always make me very happy :) Though constructive criticism is welcome too! **

**-IseultLaBelle x **


	10. Chapter 10

**So I PROMISE Dom will be meeting Peigi in the next chapter! I originally wrote this as a oneshot, but actually I think it adds to the sense of Ange and Chloe's relationship I'm trying to convey in this story, and I wanted you to have this one before the present day storyline develops any further. I know it might feel like a bit of a tangent, but some of the things Ange says in this one are going to be quite important later, so please do bear with me if you can! And I hope you feel this is true to Ange's character on the show, I was very adamant this was how this scene was going to go but I can't quite explain why. **

**Thank you so much as always to my wonderful reviewers, Katie, Megwritesx, Emily, Ramona, HolbyFan196993 and anons for your reviews, you were all especially lovely last chapter. **

**If you would like more chapters like this one (like a flashback from Ange's perspective, but also this structure as one long conversation) do let me know- and equally if you don't, please feel free to let me know this too! **

**I wrote this chapter before this week's Holby episode, but it does contain discussion of Ange's rape and Chloe's father. It's nothing graphic, but just to warn you for anyone who might appreciate a trigger warning. **

**-IseultLaBelle x**

**Chapter 10**

**Aberdeen, January 2008**

'So where is it she's got offers from now?" Siobhan asks. "Your genius darling daughter."

They're having a girls' evening at Ange's on their first night off after a week of anti-social night shifts on the general surgery ward (Siobhan in general surgery proper, Ange on the newly-opened Young Adult Unit), curled up on the sofa with takeaway pizza, too many G and Ts and a bad rom com they're hardly paying attention to at all. Chloe's out at her dance classes, Siobhan's husband is home with their four-year-old daughter Imogen, and they're enjoying a much-needed child-free evening unwinding, moaning about work, catching up on hospital gossip.

"Chloe's done amazingly well," Ange tells her friend proudly. "She's been accepted at all of her choices. Edinburgh, Dundee, Aberdeen and St Andrews for medicine, and then medical sciences at Edinburgh as well. All unconditional offers, they don't seem bothered about her Advanced Higher grades. I think it's because she did so well in her Highers last year. She's definitely my little egghead. So, she's just got to decide where she's going now." Ange sighs, takes a large sip of her G and T.

"You can't pick for her, Ange."

"Oh, I know. That's the problem." Ange closes her eyes for a moment, ponders absentmindedly that this whole being a mother thing never gets any easier. "She's got her heart set on Edinburgh. I can't say I blame her, I had my heart set on Edinburgh too, but… you know. Couldn't justify moving that far away from madam, could I?"

"Edinburgh's a brilliant medical school. And it's a beautiful city, isn't it, gorgeous buildings, lots of theatre, green spaces… it would suit Chloe down to the ground…"

"It would," Ange agrees. "I know it would. But it's two and a half hours away on the train. It's a bit under that driving, isn't it, but she's going to be getting the train when she wants to come home in term time, with our work schedule. I'm not doing a four-hour-round trip to pick her up and another one to take her back again the next day, I don't love her that much," she teases. "Well, obviously I would if she needed me, but even then, it's whether I'd physically be able to drop everything and get down there for her around my shifts. Same for my mum. Chloe…" she sighs again, hates having to voice these fears, but at the same time she knows it helps to talk about it. "She's been a lot better this school year, mental-health wise. A _lot_better. But I don't know if that's just because S6 is so much more relaxed, especially when you're a total superstar and you pull off four As and an Advanced Higher A grade a year early." She flushes a little, suddenly embarrassed. "Sorry. Sorry I know I'm…"

"Don't be so silly," Siobhan insists. "You're proud of her, it's lovely. And you've got every reason to be. I get like that when Imogen's given star of the week at preschool, and they give those out like sweets, don't they? Chloe's actually achieved something seriously brilliant. Not to mention, she's a huge, huge credit to you."

Ange smiles, blushes. "Thank you."

"I'm serious. I don't feel old enough or responsible enough to have a four-year-old half the time, I can't even imagine having an almost-adult at our age. Chloe's amazing. You're amazing. And I completely get where you're coming from."

Ange nods, pensive. "It's a worry. Sometimes I think she's turned a real corner since August- and she has, don't get me wrong. She's been self-harm free since she got her Highers results. I only know because she told me it's going to be six months at the beginning of February the other day. I'm going to have to get her something special to mark it, I think, I'm so bloody proud of her. I just don't want to buy anything yet in case I jinx it. If she can just get to a year… I don't know. I'd like to think if she can manage a year, she might break the cycle for good. But who knows."

"She hasn't been free of it for a year before?" Siobhan asks quietly. "Oh, bless her…"

"Nope. I don't think she's even managed six months before."

She thinks of her beautiful little Chloe, not quite so little anymore, but still every bit her fragile baby.

Siobhan meets her eyes sadly, expression visibly pained. "It makes me want to give her a massive hug and never let her go again, and she's not even my daughter."

"I know," Ange says simply, faintly. "I know. And it's been four years, now. More or less, anyway, I don't know when she started exactly. I found out about it just after she turned fourteen, but I'm pretty sure it had been going on for a few months by then. But yes, on and off for four years. But last year was..." Ange shakes her head. "It was bad, last year. Six months self-harm free is going to be pretty huge for her, I think. A year will be a real victory. But I just… I worry it's been easier for her this year because school's just so much less stressful in S6. I mean, don't get me wrong, she's managed to get into a much healthier routine with everything this year. She's getting plenty of sleep, she's eating, she's getting all her homework done and some extra revision and then she's letting herself chill out a bit before she goes to bed, not working herself to death. And she doesn't do anything school related at least one day at the weekend, unless it's totally unavoidable. I think that's made a real difference. And unless she's got something she needs to tell me, she's going to make it through her childhood without having her own child, so she's doing a whole lot better than her mother in that respect. God, I don't even want to joke about that. I already had Chloe by the time I was the age she is now, I can't get my head around that. Chloe doesn't seem old enough to have a baby at all- maybe that's a good thing in itself, actually. When she turns eighteen and she's not already a teen mum or on her way to becoming one, I think I'm going to feel like I've won at parenting."

Siobhan smiles faintly. "We should go out and celebrate in May, then. Chloe's birthday's in May, right? We should go out and celebrate _with_Chloe, actually. Take her on her first night out. Unless she thinks she's too cool for us."

"Umm, she'd better not. What's the point of having only a seventeen-year age gap with your daughter if you can't take her clubbing with you when she's finally legal? She can get the drinks in."

"What, with money you give her?"

Ange pauses as it clicks into place. "Yeah. Yeah, okay, fair point. That's not as good a deal as it sounds, is it? Still. We definitely have to take Chloe clubbing. That's… well. That's one of my many worries," she confesses. "We've got her little routine nailed, and it works, but whether it's going to keep on working for her once she's at medical school is another issue entirely, isn't it? I worry about how stressed she's going to be. That's probably the main thing, to be honest, everything else I'm majorly worried about stems from that. But the nightlife side of it, I'm a bit… I don't know. I don't think she's going to be a huge party animal, I think she knows her own mind enough that she won't just go along with whatever everyone else is doing if she doesn't want to. I think she'll be too focused on her studies to be going out drinking more than once a week, to be honest. I can't see that changing much, she's never going to be a last-minute crammer. She's too much of a perfectionist and she's too scared of failure. But I do worry she's only managed to get her sleeping and her eating under control because we've got her into a routine and she's sticking to it. Same time every day, you know? Consistency. That isn't going to work if she's staying out until 4am partying, is it? And it's certainly not going to work once she's doing night shifts…"

"You're getting ahead of yourself," Siobhan tells her gently. "Wherever Chloe ends up going to medical school, she's only going to have to do the odd night shift in the next five years, isn't she? She's got plenty of time before she has to alternate between early bird and semi-nocturnal at a moment's notice like us. And we've got until the end of August. That's, what, a whole seven months away. Seven months to get her plenty of practice at nights out, knowing her limit, getting herself home after, mastering a perfect hangover breakfast. Sleeping in until eleven and still getting herself to bed at a sensible time the next night. You know, all the important stuff. She'd be fine at Edinburgh, Ange. She really would. It's a whole seven months away, look how far she's come in the last five…"

"But no one can know that for sure," Ange worries. She reaches for her G and T again, exhausted just thinking about all this. "Everyone finds medical school a bit of a shock to the system at first, don't they? Half my year were having a minor breakdown a term in first year, and they didn't have Chloe's… Chloe's history."

"But Chloe's going to have all the support in the world, isn't she?" Siobhan reminds her. "You'll be on top of it. You know she's still vulnerable, even when she's doing as well as she is just now. So, you'll know, won't you? The slightest hint that she's struggling, and you'll be on it. And it's different now than it was in our day, she's got a phone… will she have a laptop?"

"Oh, I suppose I'm going to have to start putting money aside for that, aren't I?" Ange agrees. "Oh well. At least I've got until August. I hate to break it to you, but they just keep getting more and more expensive, you've got all this to come. I'll be taking out a second mortgage by the time I've bought her everything she needs for uni. But yes, I suppose at least I can phone her twenty times a day and stalk her on Facebook if I get really worried. That's a whole lot more than I had when we did this the other way around. When I was at med school, I mean, and I had to leave her with my mum. But…" She shakes her head. "Edinburgh's still two and a half hours away. "I can't hug her when she needs it, I can't make her dinner when she's drowning in assignments and she doesn't think it's important make time to eat. I can't check her room for sharps, I can't…" she sighs. "I can't check _her_. If she starts cutting again, I might not know anything about it for months, and it could be so well-established again by the time I can do something about it that she's back to square one again. You know. Proper, awful out of control, not just starting to spiral. It's easier to get her back on track if you catch it early. Edinburgh just seems… I don't know. Too far. I know she's nearly eighteen. I know that. But she's a y_oung_nearly eighteen. She's still vulnerable. Much more so than she seems just now."

"Where would you rather she went?" Siobhan asks gently. "Dundee? Dundee's only, what, just over an hour's drive, isn't it? Can't be far on the train."

"Oh, I'm much more overprotective than that," Ange admits guiltily. "Aberdeen. Ideally I'd like her to go to Aberdeen."

"Oh, Ange…"

"I know, I know, I'm terrible. But she doesn't have to live at home, does she? Just because we're only around the corner from the campus. I know you could look at it as a waste of money for her to go into student halls, but she gets a student loan either way, doesn't she? Does it really matter which city she uses it in? And it gives her the option, then. She can go into halls the first year, see how she gets on, and if she really struggles she can live at home the whole of her second year and she can try again in third year. Or fourth year, or fifth year, or not at all, if we don't quite get there. I mean, I'd rather she'd mastered living independently before she graduates med school or she's going to be even more of a worry when she's an F1. But I don't want to push her to run before she can walk. Her mental state's more important than anything else. As long as she's healthy and she's happy, we can deal with the rest of it. I'd just have to pull some serious strings to get her guaranteed all her F1 and 2 rotations at Aberdeen General until she's ready to cope on her own, or something. But I'm thinking more she goes to Aberdeen, she moves out into halls or a student house or whatever in term time and she gets to have her independence, but her nana and I are only around the corner if she needs us, to be honest. And she knows Aberdeen. At least she wouldn't have to get to know a new city without her support network nearby, on top of moving out and starting at medical school."

"Oh, I don't think she's moving out, wherever she goes," Siobhan smiles. "Not permanently, not until she's graduated medical school. She'll be back home in the holidays like she never left, just you wait. She loves her mummy. If Imogen and I are still as close as you and Chloe are when she's all grown up, I'll be more than happy. So how does Chloe feel? About Aberdeen?"

"_Chloe_is against for all the reasons I think it would be the best thing for her," Ange sighs. "She's determined she's off to medical school at Edinburgh. She's just so headstrong, I can't make her do anything she doesn't want to do. And I don't think I can change her mind, not really. Her heart's set on Edinburgh, she's fallen in with the whole aesthetic, I think. And the idea of being able to go to the theatre without planning a whole overnight trip. And she wants to move away, she wants to be independent, she doesn't want to stay in the city she's lived in her whole life with her mum and her nana around the corner. And I do get it. I'm just going to have to roll with it and be ready to pick her up if she falls, I think."

How is she ever supposed to let her go out into the world by herself and not worry about her constantly?

"I think that's all you can do," Siobhan reassures her. "You can't interfere. You can guide her, sure, you can make suggestions, but she's got to make her own decisions. But she'll be fine, Ange. Honestly, she will. She's got the best mum she could possibly ask for, she's so lucky to have you fighting her corner. And she's pretty good, isn't she? I know she's had an awful time of it with her mental health, but otherwise. I was a right nightmare when I was a teenager, I was hanging out down the canal out the back of my parents' garden with a budget two litre of cider each and a crate of WKD between four of us, by the time I was Chloe's age."

"Well, when you put it like that," Ange agrees. "I was off the rails and pregnant when I was a year younger than Chloe is now. I _had_Chloe, by the time I was Chloe's age. I should probably thank her, really, god only knows what I would have been up to by the time I was nearly eighteen if I hadn't had Chloe."

"Where is Chloe tonight, by the way? Not up to no good with a keg of beer and a packet of fags, I take it?"

"God, no, she's far too sensible for that. She's hidden my cigarettes again today. It must have been her, I definitely left them in the fruit bowl. And my lighter's gone, too."

Siobhan grins playfully. "You sure she hasn't…"

"Oi, I'm sure. She's been badgering me to quit since she had the smoking kills talk in P3, you've got that absolute gem to come with Imogen. And it was in P3 when Chloe was that age, and Chloe's, what, fourteen-ish years older than Imogen? I bet they start them younger nowadays. No, she's at dancing. She's either twirling around on blocks of wood doing her best Darcey Bussell impression or she's leaping over haphazardly placed swords to bagpipes like the good Highlands and Islands girl her mother never was, I forget which way round it is tonight. I just know it's definitely not the jazz or the contemporary because she's left her stuff for that in the tumble dryer. Least she washed it herself, I guess. Step one, introduce her to the washing machine and the tumble dryer. Step two, introduce her to the novel idea of putting her laundry away after."

"Oh, you're really selling it to me," Siobhan teases. "On a serious note, though, so your mum still teaches dance, at the place Chloe's at, right? But just the baby classes?"

"Yep, on Saturdays. Why, were you thinking of signing Imogen up?"

"Well, I'm wondering about it. She's so hyper at the moment, I'm thinking she needs something to burn off her excess energy. But then she's a total wild child, I wonder if it might be a bit too structured for her."

"Well, I can give you my mum's number, if you want?" Ange offers. "I think she does a free trial class before you have to commit them to anything. But I don't think they do anything too structured at Imogen's age, anyway. You can ask Chloe about it when she gets back, actually, she helps out with the younger ones sometimes. She'll be on her way back soon, I think, she texts me when she's starting to walk home so I know when to send out a search party if she hasn't turned up."

"You worry too much, you know. It's only, what, a ten-minute walk? And this area's pretty safe."

"I know, I know. But how can I not? Speaking of which, she's still talking about deferring and taking a gap year," Ange groans. "She wants to go backpacking, among other things. I could cope with an island retreat to her great grandparents on Skye, and it's on her list, but she'd die of boredom if she did that for a whole year, apparently. And to be fair, she's got a point. But backpacking… I mean, can you imagine her going backpacking? My little Chloe? The backpack would weigh more than she does, for a start, and that's if she only half-filled it. We found that out the hard way when she tried to do her D of E award, she was practically toppling over when she actually had it on her back. I got a phone call from the teacher in charge telling me to come and rescue her. I don't think Chloe's ever quite forgiven me."

"And you can't go and rescue her from Thailand when she collapses under the weight of her snail shell," Siobhan finishes for her.

"Oh, I don't think she's thinking Thailand. Thank god. Inter-railing Europe and the Trans-Siberian, she was telling me the other day. Although I'm not sure what's worse, to be honest, the thought of her in a Thai drugs den or thrown into a Russian gulag…" Ange trails off, shudders. "She'd better not be thinking Thailand. Only you hear the horror stories, don't you?"

"Would she go on her own?" Siobhan's clearly trying hard to sound casual, put Ange at ease, but it's perfectly clear from her expression that she'd be worried about Chloe off backpacking by herself, too.

"God, I hope not. I think her friend Lauren's considering a gap year, too. I haven't dared ask, to be honest, but I'm hoping her travel plans are all with Lauren. The thought of her alone in a foreign country fills me with absolute terror. She'd work herself into a right panic if she got herself lost and no one understood her, for a start. And she's not staying in a hostel dorm. I'll give her the money to upgrade to a hotel before I let her stay in a hostel dorm, she's not sleeping in a room with strange men in and out all night. Anything could happen."

"She'd be alright, Ange. They have female-only dorms at most hostels now, I think. Certainly in parts of Europe, they do…"

Ange shakes her head firmly. "Sleeper trains, though, if she does the Trans-Siberian. And forward Eastern European men twice her size and more than twice her weight, while struggling with a backpack she can hardly lift. And I know she'd probably be fine. I know that. But my mum probably thought that about me, I know I certainly did. It only takes once. And Chloe's not even half as street-smart as I was at her age, she hasn't played any of the stupid dangerous games I was playing with men at seventeen. She doesn't know what could hit her if she lets her guard down. Or even if she doesn't."

"Ange…"

"And she's _tiny_. She's just about my height now, I think she must be a late developer. She's definitely grown in the last couple of months or so, I'm just hoping she'll fill out a bit so I can start stealing all her clothes. There's no way I could fit into any of her stuff at the moment. I mean, there's no point having a daughter so close to your age she could be your sister if you can't steal her clothes, is there? But there's nothing of her. Even now she's been eating properly for a good five months, there's still nothing of her. I bought her a new coat in the kids' section the other day, I figured it didn't look like it was from the kids' section, and it fitted her and she was happy with it, so why would I pay the VAT. I didn't tell Chloe it was from the kids' section, obviously. But that's not normal at nearly eighteen, is it? And it's not like she's strong. And to top it all off, she panics. I think she could barely take out a kitten. Let alone a fully-grown man, if she had to. In a strange country. By herself. But for forever, really. I'm not just thinking if she goes off travelling on her own, I'm thinking… I don't know. Life, going forward. I mean, right now I'm pretty lucky, she's not ever really asked to stay out late unless it involves me picking her up from a friend's house, or a set venue, or something, and certainly not by herself. But it's not going to be that way forever. She's vulnerable. She's far more vulnerable than I ever was. She's more vulnerable than I was at fourteen, come to that, never mind nearly eighteen. And I don't know what to do about it."

"She'll get there. I mean, this is more your area of expertise than mine, really," Siobhan tries carefully. "You're the young adult expert. But she could easily still have some more growing to do yet, couldn't she? I was a bit like her when I was eighteen, I could eat whatever I wanted and I was still super skinny. Then all of a sudden it all changed halfway through med school and I finally looked like an actual adult. And then a couple of years after that my metabolism ground to a halt and I gained about five stone. But anyway. And Chloe was a preemie, wasn't she? She might still be catching up. She probably won't be quite so waif-like in a year or so."

Ange closes her eyes. "He was built like Chloe is. You know, the sperm donor. Not Chloe's… he's not that. Not to Chloe, I can't call him that. He never overpowered me, I don't think he could have, I probably weighed more than he did. I just kind of… froze. Let him do it. He relied on that, I guess. Maybe he even got a kick out of it, I don't know. I wouldn't be surprised. It's a thing, apparently. It's quite common to just freeze and… you know. I think people have this idea that… that when _that_happens to you, it'll be someone strong and powerful and much bigger than you are. And then if it isn't, then it's… I don't know. It's even harder to talk about that part of it all, I guess, because you have to admit that you froze. You don't think you'll freeze until it happens to you, you think you'll fight, but it's not like that." She smiles weakly, allows Siobhan to reach for her hand, squeezes back in gratitude.

"But anyway. So you could be right. Or it could be genetic, I guess. It could be she was just always going to be small, she was always going to struggle with her mental health. With the panic attacks, with the self-harming. Or it could be because of me, it could be because of all the _crap_I was poisoning her with when I was pregnant with her…"

"You can't go there," Siobhan tells her firmly. "I know it's hard, but you can't do it to yourself. Chloe's perfect, Ange. She really is. She's beautiful, she's intelligent, she's humble, she's brilliant company. She's kind. She's responsible, she's conscientious, that's more than can be said for a lot of girls her age. There aren't many teenagers I'd trust to babysit Imogen for me. Those are the only things that really matter, aren't they? She's turned out just perfect, you haven't done her any damage at all."

"You don't know that, though," Ange sighs. "No one can ever know that…"

"Exactly. So there's no point worrying about it, is there? Maybe you didn't give Chloe the best few months in utero you could have- this is such a medic conversation, isn't it? You can tell we're medics but we're not obs and gynae, can't you."

"I think not the best is the understatement of the century," Ange argues. "I let her down. Hugely. I'm lucky she didn't end up with…"

"But she didn't, Ange," Siobhan tells her gently. "There's no lasting damage, is there? Chloe's perfect. You can't hold yourself responsible for her anxiety, you really can't. Not when so often it's just one of those things and there really isn't an obvious trigger. Any psych specialist will tell you that. You can't convince yourself you've let her down because you had a difficult pregnancy- no, I know what you're going to say, but that's what it is. You were traumatised, you'd been through a really awful ordeal, you'd been raped, and you were what, sixteen, for most of it? Seventeen when you had her? You were coping the only way you knew how in an awful situation, no one can blame you for that. No one who matters, anyway. Fuck the rest of them. So what if you didn't get everything right in the first few months. No one looking at Chloe now would doubt you've done everything right ever since she was born, that's the important bit. You're an amazing mum, you really are, how you've managed to do such a brilliant job being Chloe's mum and going through med school on top is beyond me. I couldn't do that. I couldn't do that now, let alone when I was seventeen. And it's obvious Chloe adores you. And she's doing amazingly well now, isn't she? Even after everything she's been through with her anxiety in the last few years, she's a total star. That's on you."

"That's on Chloe," Ange corrects her softly. "I can't take credit for that. She's managed it all on her own, and I'm stupidly proud of her."

"Yes, she has," Siobhan agrees. "But she's been able to do it because she's had your unconditional love and support. She really has. You've made her as brilliant as she is. She's going to be absolutely fine, Ange. She's going to keep thriving, she's going to be absolutely fine because she's got you. And she feels loved and secure because she knows it."

"Thank you," Ange whispers, squeezes Siobhan's hand back, determined she isn't going to cry. "Thank you."

Her phone vibrates softly against the coffee table.

Chloe: _I'll be home in 10 xxx_

_Ok, _Ange texts back. _See you soon._ _Love you xxx_


	11. Chapter 11

**It's finally happening! I'm sorry it took so long, but hopefully it was worth the wait :) And thank you so much Holbyfan196993 and Katie for reviewing the last chapter. **

**This is the last of the complete chapters I have written for this story right now, but I will have some time to write on Thursday night and at the weekend, so if there is anything specific you want me to write or you particularly want an Ange/past/Chloe/Dom/present/anything else chapter, please do let me know! And as ever, reviews would be wonderful. **

**I'm also writing various scenes from Chloe's teen years and her childhood, and of Ange as a teen mum, over on Reclaimed, Green Shoots In Spring and Chloe- I will be doing some of this on this story too and some of Ange with baby Dom, but if you would like to read that kind of thing in the meantime, they are there :) **

**-IseultLaBelle x **

**Chapter 11**

"You must be Dominic, then."

He's been sat on the bench outside the entrance to Wyvern Wing for so long that he's lost track of time completely, staring into space, empty, numb.

He's taken completely by surprise by the thick Scottish accent addressing him out of nowhere, nothing like Ange's but not quite like Chloe's, either.

Peigi Godard stands on the steps in front of him, long grey hair flowing out behind her in the wind, faded tie-dye bag over one shoulder, dragging a suitcase along behind her, so completely unlike her daughter and yet the spitting image of her at the same time, a perfect, older replica.

She's clearly come straight from the airport.

Of course she has, Dom curses himself; that's a completely ridiculous observation.

Apart from the fact that her granddaughter is losing her fight with septic shock, hospital security stationed along the ED corridor for her benefit because her psycho husband won't leave her alone and her daughter is in pieces she's so worried about her, she'll surely be staying with Ange. And she won't have a key, not if she still lives up in Aberdeen…

"How did you know?" Dom asks, strange edge to his voice even he can't place.

It's all falling apart.

He's dreamt of meeting Peigi, his birth grandmother, but not like this.

Not when his mother is furious with him, when his half-sister is slowly fading away in the ED…

"Angel's sent me photos," Peigi explains gently, moves to sit beside him on the bench, pulls her suitcase into the space to the side of the steps. "But even if she hadn't, you're got a definite look of your grandfather about you."

"Ange's dad?" Dom waits for her nod in confirmation. "She didn't see it." He doesn't intend for his tone to be quite so bitter as he utters those words, but somehow, he just can't quite shake it. "Ange didn't see it, we were working together for months before it came out that I'm…"

"Well, she wasn't expecting it, was she?" Peigi reasons, voice gentle, diplomatic. "I'm sure she sees it now. I can see it, but whether I would have put it together if I hadn't known already is a different matter altogether."

"I don't think she does," Dom argues quietly, defeated- and this wasn't how he imagined this moment to go, not the warm welcoming back into his family unit he's been hoping for, not the circumstances. And it's almost as though now it's happening like this, now it's all such a mess and it's his moment and it's not even about him, it's about his babied little half-sister, he's almost on self-destruct mode, talking himself out of it all because Peigi even has a chance. "Ange has never told me that I look like my grandfather… she's told me about him, about both of you, a little, but she's never said…"

Peigi sighs heavily. "You must never, ever repeat this," she warns. "I'm telling you this in confidence, because you're a part of this family, and I think you need to understand. But I… let's just say who resembles who is a bit of a difficult topic. For Angel and me, anyway. But you must never repeat that."

"You mean Chloe looks like her fa…"

"I'm not saying anything," Peigi says firmly. "I'm not making the same mistake Ange did. No offense meant to you, Dominic," she sighs. "But this is… I think it's safe to say this has all been a bit of a mess, hasn't it? And I don't want to take sides. You and Chloe are both my grandchildren, I'm not picking one of you over the other. But Chloe…" she groans, shakes her head. "Chloe wasn't telling me everything, when she was up in Aberdeen with me last week. I know she wasn't. But I get the impression she's been telling Angel even less, and I know how upset she was when she realised how much Angel had told you about her before she even knew she had a brother. And that isn't your fault, of course it isn't. But I will not- I _cannot_\- do anything that might make Chloe feel she can't confide in me. So please, just take it from me. Don't ask Angel anything about who you might resemble. Not unless she brings it up first, and even then, it's probably best not to push it. And that man," she grits her teeth, face twists with utter hatred. "Is not Chloe's father. I know you weren't to know, I know you've had a bit of a baptism of fire into this family and you've just had to work it out as you go. But please, please don't ever call him that in front of Angel and Chloe. Especially not in front of Chloe. How is she?" She asks now.

There's fear in her voice, fear and dread and overwhelming love and anguish and urgency all at once, but somehow, there's an air of calm that isn't there with Ange.

Not now.

Not when it's Chloe.

Chloe…

This is his grandmother. Peigi is his birth grandmother, his flesh and blood, finally; at last he's being included within his extended family, no longer merely Ange's guilty secret.

This should be his moment, and yet still, everything has to revolve around _Chloe_.

It's all about Chloe, even in the very first words his grandmother has ever said to him- since he was handed over to his adoptive parents, at least.

Why does everything in this family have to be all about Chloe?

It's only after those thoughts have entered his head that Dom realises just how horribly selfish he's being.

It isn't Chloe's fault, after all. Chloe didn't ask to be born of their mother's rape, to come with all the emotional baggage that she clearly has; and even after several months in the knowledge that he's part of this family, Dom suspects he's still only scratching the surface. But she didn't ask to be the one born when Ange was just about old enough and mature enough to make a go of being a mother, either, didn't ask to be the cute one, the clever one, the one the entire world seems to revolve around.

Chloe didn't ask for them all to love her more than they ever loved him, more than they ever will.

"She's… it's not looking good," Dom tells Peigi at last, can't bear to meet her eyes because all of a sudden, his mind is casting back to that day in theatre with Chloe, right before it all came out about Ange being his birth mother, about Evan, about Lofty and the baby, back when his greatest concern was persuading Chloe to give up on her old position at Caple Cross and accept Ms Naylor's job offer on Darwin, unable to quite process why it was so important to him to keep her around other than that he liked her, liked her rather a lot, wanted to keep her around a little longer.

She was raised by her grandmother. That's what she'd said. And she's never mentioned it since, and neither has Ange, and so he's never quite gotten to the bottom of how and why, where the line falls, because it's obvious Ange has been anything but hands-off and disinterested, absent, when it comes to Chloe, at least in the last few years.

This is likely tearing Peigi to pieces in exactly the same way it is Ange, if she practically raised Chloe, Dom realises with a sinking feeling in his heart, suddenly feels more horribly guilty than ever.

She's just holding herself together because she feels she needs to be strong for Ange and Chloe.

Does she feel she needs to be strong for him, too?

"It's not good," Dom says again, struggling to put it all into words, all his medical training to deal with this scenario, with family members, well and truly gone now it's his own family, his own half-sister. "She's… it's not just sepsis. It's septic shock, that… that basically means her immune system's attacking itself so badly that her organs are starting to shut down, she's heading for multi-organ failure. Her kidneys are a mess, they've got her on dialysis for the time being. And she's still not breathing by herself, if anything her breathing's just getting worse. She's not responding to the antibiotics like she should be… the main treatment for sepsis is antibiotics, they need to flush the infection out of her system, but she's not responding to them. So they've got her on steroids too, now, they've had to take her into theatre, they've… basically, they've removed the infected tissue around the wound to her abdomen the sepsis originated from… that's exactly what it sounds like," he explains apologetically, struggling not to resort to medical terminology, cold, clinical, distanced from the patient. From Chloe… "It was a bad infection, she's going to need a skin graft, but they won't get her back into theatre for that while she's this unstable. The hope is that now there's less sepsis in her system for her to fight off she'll start responding to the antibiotics, but…" He trails off, doesn't want to voice what he's thinking. "She's got a long way to go," he settles for at last. "It's not looking good. Ange is… well, she's in pieces, she's not coping at all…"

Peigi nods slowly, face devoid of emotion. "Of course she isn't. Of course she isn't, she's her little girl. And how are you holding up?" she asks gently.

Her question takes him so completely by surprise that it takes Dom a moment to realise she's talking to him, despite there being no one else his grandmother could possibly be addressing.

"Me? I… I'm fine," Dom tells her hastily. "I'm fine, I mean, I know she's my… she's my half-sister. But I've only known that for a few months, I've only known her full stop for what, less than a year. It's totally different for you and Ange, I can't even imagine how you must be…"

"That bad, then," Peigi concludes heavily. "I know very little about sepsis, let alone septic shock, I had to google it on the way to the airport, but from what I do understand…"

"She's got about a forty percent chance of pulling through this," Dom tells her faintly, suddenly feels rather apologetic and he can't quite explain why. "And that's if she were to be responding as we'd expect to the antibiotics, but she's… she's barely responding at all…"

"I think they gave her a forty percent chance when she was born," Peigi ponders absentmindedly. "She was premature. Well, she wasn't massively premature date-wise, but she was much smaller than she should have been. Tiny little scrap of a thing, not much bigger than my forearm. I expect the odds are much improved now, neonatal medicine or whatever it is wasn't where it is today in the 90s. But she beat those. She can do it again. And she's your sister, Dominic," she tells him gently, reaches for his hand. "She's your little sister. How long you've known that doesn't matter, you're just as entitled to be upset as we are."

"Half-sister," Dom corrects automatically, before he's even thought about it.

Peigi sighs. "It might be best not to use the half part in front of Chloe, either. But yes, technically she's your half-sister. But does that really matter? You've both got just the one parent- from your birth family, I mean, for you, I don't want to take away everything your other family have done for you. They're still just as important as they've ever been, aren't they? But you've both just got Angel as far as parents go, you and Chloe, you've both just got the one side of extended family. Just the one grandmother." She smiles faintly, rubs her thumb against the back of his hand. "Does that 'half' really matter? And anyway. If we can't all pull together in a crisis, there's no hope for us, is there?" She takes a deep breath, shifts her handbag back onto her shoulder. "Shall we go and see Chloe, then? Angel sent you out here to wait for me, did she?"

He can't lie to her.

He's messed up enough already, gotten off to a terrible start with his birth grandmother within the first five minutes, if that.

He can't lie to her now, not when she'll only find out from Ange later, anyway.

"I… Ange sent me out the room, actually," he admits quietly, suddenly rather ashamed. He feels as though he's a child again, sent to his room by his mother to have a long, hard think about what he's done and having to explain himself to his grandmother confused at finding him in isolation. "We… we had a bit of an argument…"

"About?" Peigi asks.

She doesn't miss a beat. There's no judgement in her tone, Dom realises slowly, no automatically siding with her daughter over the grandson she hasn't seen for thirty-two years, no immediate assumption that he's the one at fault.

And he is the one at fault, of course.

Maybe it's Peigi's presence, something strangely calming about her, despite the unfamiliarity, but suddenly, that seems to be slotting into place in Dom's mind.

He's the one at fault.

That's not to say he takes back everything that he said.

Because he doesn't. He maintains that Chloe might just have learnt to stand on her own two feet by now, wouldn't be reliant upon her mother to fight her battles for her, reassure her constantly, pick her up when she falls if only Ange had actually given her a chance, backed off a little, hadn't smothered her as she has. And he's still jealous. As much as he's relieved he isn't Chloe, hasn't been babied as she has, isn't as fragile as she seems to be and perhaps it's as a result of their mother having always treated her as such, never quite gotten her head around letting her grow up, letting her go, letting go of responsibility and guilt for how Chloe came into the world or whatever it is that drives it all, as much as he's glad it isn't him… he's jealous. He's jealous that Chloe apparently means more to Ange than he ever did, than he ever will, can't bring himself to apologise for feeling that way.

But all the same, he shouldn't have said it.

He shouldn't have said it ever, not really.

And he certainly shouldn't have said it with Chloe lying comatose, riddled with sepsis, clearly amidst a particularly nasty anxiety episode too and very much touch and go, odds of surviving this rapidly diminishing.

"It was…" Dom shakes his head, embarrassed. "It was stupid, I was stupid, it was just… you know. Sibling rivalry stuff, I guess. It was completely my fault, I shouldn't have said it, it was the worst possible time and place for it…"

"Well, this has all been rather hard on you and Chloe, hasn't it?" Peigi reasons, with more diplomacy than Dom thinks he could ever have mustered in her position. "You've been an only child with your mum and dad, is that right? You and Chloe aren't just having to get used to each other, are you, you're having to get used to not being an only child anymore, too. You've got to get your head around having another mum, you've had your whole world turned upside down, and you've got to get used to having a sibling. And Chloe's got to get her head around sharing her mum, she's never really had to do that before. It's always just been the two of them. She's used to being the family baby- the only family baby, that is. You're both learning to live with each other, some sibling rivalry is only to be expected. And emotions must be running high in there."

"I thought she was going to fall down the stairs," Dom whispers faintly. "She looked… well, she looked awful the moment she came in for her shift this morning, she didn't look like she'd just had a week off at all, but she just kept saying she was fine and she's been… I don't know, I just assumed it was Evan, I guess, I just assumed she'd had more creepy voicemails from Evan, or he'd been lurking outside the hospital, or something. And then… we were standing at the top of the stairs, and she just started swaying, and then she fell backwards and I thought she was going to fall all the way down…"

"Chlo?" Peigi asks quietly, squeezes Dom's hand. "They didn't tell me any of that, they just said they had her in the ED with suspected sepsis."

He nods. "I managed to grab her. I don't… I couldn't even tell you how I did it, I don't remember, I just knew I had to catch her before she fell all the way down and broke her neck. I thought she'd just… I don't know what I thought, I guess I thought she'd just lost her balance at first, or she'd fainted, at the very worst. And then she didn't respond, I was holding onto her, she'd just nearly fallen down the stairs and she wasn't responding at all, she wasn't supporting herself at all, and I managed to get her on the floor and she was just totally gone by that point, we couldn't bring her round and her temperature and her pulse were rock bottom, so that's when we took her down to the ED…"

Peigi closes her eyes, just breathes for a moment, slow, careful, as though she's struggling to hold herself together too now, as though she was all along, just doing a far better job of pretending than Ange has managed since this whole nightmare began.

"Thank god you were there," she says at last. "Thank god you were there to look out for her. You can't beat yourself up about arguing with your mum," she tells him gently. "Not if you stopped Chloe doing herself even more damage. It sounds like you've done more to help your sister today than Angel and I have managed all week…"

"I told Ange that Chloe got herself into this mess in the first place because she babies her too much and Chloe doesn't know how to cope without having her hand held all the time," Dom blurts out frantically, ashamed, knows if he doesn't force it out now he might never manage it. "I mean, I didn't… I didn't actually say that Evan managed to get his claws into Chloe because she and Ange weren't speaking and she wasn't there to rescue her, but I'm sure she thought that. And I certainly suggested that this whole… everything now, the septic shock… I made myself sound like a jealous brat, I basically said I thought she'd started self-harming again because she's never been taught how to deal with her own problems, she's never been given a chance because Ange is always all over her…"

He trails off, suddenly horribly, painfully aware of the look of agony on Peigi's face, realises it isn't about what he said.

"They didn't tell you about the source of Chloe's septic shock on the phone, did they?" he realises now, sinking feeling in his heart.

"No," Peigi says quietly. "No, they didn't. And they're… they're sure about that?"

"As sure as they can be, given they haven't been able to ask Chloe. But Ange seems to agree. It's… it's wounds to her abdomen, they were untreated, when she collapsed, but she'd clearly had some of them for a while, some of them were… more recent. Apparently, that's consistent with… with how she's self-harmed in the past."

Peigi just nods, silent, pensive.

"I wondered," she admits faintly, voice laced with guilt. "She… you were with Angel and Chloe earlier, right, when I called? Chloe was up in Aberdeen with me last week, she only left, what, it's Tuesday, isn't it? I feel like I've lost track of everything, since all this kicked off. Two days ago. She only left Sunday morning. But I found… evidence, in the bathroom bin, that made me worry. She said she'd just cut her leg shaving- I asked her about it, obviously, it's… well, you stay on the lookout, don't you, with these things. And Angel had mentioned she was worried about her, what with everything that's happened with this Evan. I don't know, I just had a feeling. And I thought she looked a bit peaky. She wasn't really eating, I even let her take me out for sushi in the end. I bloody hate the stuff, but Chloe doesn't know that, and she'd been with me for a few days at that point and I'd got the general idea, I was all for trying anything that might get some calories in her."

"You and me both," Dom agrees, instantly feels guilty for changing the topic even slightly, making light of it all when the situation is so horribly serious. "The sushi, I mean."

"Oh, and Ange. But you probably already know that, don't you, she can't stand the stuff, either. Why anyone would want to eat raw fish and cold rice is beyond me. I mean…" she closes her eyes again, just for a moment, face twists. "If it was anyone else, I'd be saying I don't know where she gets it from, but that's… well. That's always been a bit of a difficult one with Chloe. Too many emotions, you know? Too much potential for things to be taken the wrong way. But anyway. The point is, I was worried. I knew there was something wrong, and I gave her exactly what she wanted, I let her fob me off when I should have been rushing her down to Aberdeen General. Me and Angel both, we've both been worried about her, by the sounds of things, and we've both let her down spectacularly. So you mustn't beat yourself up about anything you might have said or done just now, alright? We've all messed up. But you really came through for Chloe today, by the sounds of it. If you hadn't been there to stop her falling down the stairs, if you hadn't got her through to A and E so quickly, I don't even want to think about what might have happened. And besides, you couldn't have picked a better moment for it, in a strange sort of way. Angel's going to be so wrapped up with all this with Chloe, I doubt she'll even remember you had a falling out by the end of today."

"She will," Dom protests. "She definitely will. I told her she treats Chloe like a child, I told her she babies her, I told her… I made out like all Chloe's problems stem from her," he concludes shakily. "I shouldn't have done it. I know I shouldn't have done it, I don't know why I… I was jealous, I suppose. I… I know how awful that sounds when Chloe's… when Chloe could… I don't know I why I said it, I should have pulled myself together, I should never have dumped all that on Ange with everything else that's going on, let alone in front of Chloe… I just… I don't know… I know it isn't an excuse, I know there _is_no excuse, but I just… I look at Ange's relationship with Chloe, I look at how close they are, I look at how she treats Chloe, everything she'd do for Chloe, and I just… I don't know… it all just came pouring out at the worst possible moment, and Ange kicked me out the room, and rightly so…"

There's something so incredibly soothing and therapeutic about his grandmother's presence, inexplicably so, that it's as though the flood gates have opened all over again, but in a far healthier way this time, anger gone, calmer, guilty, worry pouring through his veins again like it should have been before.

He suddenly can't help but wonder just how much time he spent in his grandmother's care as a baby, before Ange gave him up for adoption, whether he remembers, something instinctive within him associates her with safety, comfort, no judgement.

Peigi sighs. "Well, Angel always has been very protective of Chloe. You have to understand, Dominic. She wanted you. She loved you right from the start, she did everything right with you. Giving you up for adoption was an absolute last resort, you know, it broke her heart. We tried everything, we really did. She was just far, far too young. I know that must still be difficult to accept. But you would have been four before she was even old enough to go to university, Dominic. She couldn't have kept you. Not then, not at fourteen. But… look, what I'm trying to say… you mustn't repeat any of this to your mother," she warns. "Or Chloe. I shouldn't be telling you this at all, I just think… I get it. I understand how it must look. But believe me, Dominic, she did everything right with you. She wanted you, she was dead-set on making it work, before reality hit. She was excited. She did all the midwife appointments, all the new baby preparation stuff, she was the perfect expectant mother with you, really. She was just far too young to have a baby. And then with Chloe…" she sighs again, closes her eyes for a moment.

"I never did get to the bottom of when she realised she was pregnant with Chloe. I don't think _Angel _knows when she realised she was pregnant with Chloe, to tell you the honest truth. I hope it was earlier than I think it was, but I wouldn't put money on it. It was… chaotic, with Chloe. Nothing like it was with you. That isn't my story to tell, that's for Angel to tell you. When she's ready. And then Chloe was premature, she was very poorly, the first few weeks- months, really. She felt incredibly guilty about that. And the whole way Angel had her, and where Chloe came from in the first place… she was always a worry," Peigi admits. "In a way that you never were, really, she never needed to worry in the same way with you. Don't get me wrong, she worried about you when you went to your new family," she covers quickly. "Of course she did. But we'd met Carole and Barry, we'd had a few meetings with them. We knew they were good people, we knew you were going to have a better life with them than Angel could have given you. It wasn't working. It was the best thing for you, it was the best thing for her, we both felt comfortable with Carole and Barry. With your mum and dad. It was the only solution to an awful situation. But Chloe… Angel was always aware that she was going to have to tell Chloe how she was conceived, one day. She never wanted to cover it up, she was always very clear about that. She always thought it would be worse for Chloe to find out the truth further down the line- believe me, I know how ironic that sounds now, what with everything she didn't tell her about you," she sighs, seems to realise exactly what Dom is thinking. "It broke her, Dominic, giving you up. I think she almost…"

"She buried everything that happened with me so she could move forward with Chloe," Dom finishes quietly. "I know. I know, I get it."

Peigi smiles faintly. "I'm not saying it makes it right. Not from your perspective, at least, of course it doesn't. All I'm trying to say… Angel's always had a long list of reasons to worry about Chloe. And then I think… I think that's almost how she coped with having to give you up, in the end. She didn't, for a while, and then all of a sudden, she had Chloe, and Chloe was far too tiny and ill, even when Chloe finally came out of hospital it wasn't plain sailing. Far from it. And then Angel was still dealing with how she'd had Chloe in the first place, on top of everything else. All I'm trying to say… I completely understand how you must feel. It was always going to be difficult, I think, coming back into your birth family like this. I know Angel and Chloe are very close, I know Angel's very protective of Chloe."

"You're telling me."

He doesn't mean for it to sound as bitter as it does.

Peigi sighs. "I'm not trying to tell you that you shouldn't feel the way you do, Dominic. But give it time? Okay? It's still very early days at this point. You'll find your way, Dom. You all will. You just have to go through this adjustment period getting to know each other, you need to get your head around having another family, that must have been an awful shock for you. Chloe needs to get used to having a sibling, you and Angel need to get used to each other, now, now that you're grown up. You aren't the little baby she gave up at six months anymore, it can't be easy for her, either, having to work out who you are now, how she fits into your life now. And equally, it can't be easy for you to look at Angel and Chloe and be trying to find your place in with them. But you will. Angel loves you just as much as she loves Chloe, I promise she does. It's just going to take time." She squeezes Dom's hand tightly, forces a smile, as though she's mentally trying to prepare them both for the struggle ahead. "Shall we go and see your mum and your sister, then? You can show me the way."

Dom nods weakly, climbs to his feet, pulls Ange's phone from his pocket. "I need to talk to Ange anyway. I've still got her phone, I need to give it back, she's got a text about Chloe."

"About Chloe?" Peigi repeats. "It might be an idea not to give it back to her just yet, if she's getting a load of texts asking how Chlo is, it'll only…"

"No, no it's not… it's not quite that," Dom tells her. "It's from one of Chloe's friends, I think… I think Ange does probably need to see it. It sounds like she's been in touch with Chloe a lot this week, she might… I don't know. She might be able to shed some light on the whole situation, I guess. Ange can't get her head around what Chloe was doing in Glasgow, before she came to stay with you, I mean, I don't think it matters, really, does it? But as we can't ask Chloe…"

Peigi frowns. "And this is a friend of Chloe's in Glasgow? I thought the whole thing was a bit odd, to be honest with you, the story Chloe gave me. She was very vague about who she was visiting, I didn't even know she knew anyone in Glasgow…"

Dom shakes his head, unlocks Ange's phone. "I don't think so. It didn't sound like she'd actually seen Chloe, it sounded like just… you probably don't know all her friends, do you… Emina? Someone called Emina?"

He can't quite read the look on Peigi's face.

"Yep… Emina." He's not entirely sure why he's continuing, just convinced, somehow, by the sudden change in Peigi's expression that he needs to offload this, needs to hand it over to someone who will understand, can deal with it far better than he can. "Emina… it sounds like she's a friend of Chloe's? Chloe's been texting her this week but she stopped yesterday and now she's worried, she said something about Chloe going to stay with her, maybe, if Chloe needed it…"

Peigi sighs heavily.

There's a long, painful pause.

"Okay," she says quietly at last. "Okay. You're right. You're right, I think we do need to tell Ange. She probably needs to give her a call back."

"Is there a problem?" Dom asks carefully. "I mean… if I should have… I thought about taking it straight up to Ange, but we didn't exactly part on great terms, and I didn't think it was that important…"

"No, no, you did the right thing. It… it might not be all that important at all," Peigi groans softly. "It might not. Sorry, I'm just… I'm just remembering something Chlo said to me last week. And as it's Emina… It's nothing bad," she covers quickly. "Emina, I mean, she's just a friend, she's one of Chloe's oldest friends…"

"But the fact that it's Emina makes you worried?"

He shouldn't have asked, should mind his own bloody business, but the words slip out before he can help himself.

Peigi closes her eyes. "It's probably not my place to tell you. I'm not… no offense, Dominic, but I'm not going there. I know it really upset Chloe that Angel told you so much about how she was conceived, how Chloe and Emina met is for her to tell you. But Emina's…" She sighs. "Let's just say Chloe and Emina have struggled with a lot of the same things. Well, Chloe more than Emina, really. But Emina… I think Chloe's often felt that Emina's the only person she can talk to, about some things. And vice versa. That isn't to say… it could be nothing. It could be nothing we need to worry about, but I just… I don't know. I just have a feeling. So yes. Yes, Angel probably does need to know."

He shouldn't ask.

Dom knows he shouldn't ask, but he feels so excluded, so stuck on the outside looking in, so… rejected, almost, that he just can't help himself.

"Emina's mum was raped too, wasn't she?" It isn't a question, not really, not when deep down, he already knows the answer. "Emina's mum… _had _her… the same way Ange had Chloe."


	12. Chapter 12

**I am so, so sorry for the delay! Retreat and Divine Justice messed with my plans for this story a bit and I had to replan how the present storyline is going to work, and I stupidly let myself start about six different flashback chapters at once, so I had lots of unfinished ones but nothing I could actually give you. But I've worked out what I'm doing with this story now, and I promise you won't have to wait so long next time! **

**Please do let me know if you're still reading and you want me to carry on with this. I think I'm going to give you a present chapter with Dom and Ange next, but as always, I'm open to doing something different if you would prefer. **

**There's a slight twist at the end, you might be able to work out where it's going if you've been really paying attention to the Chloe storyline in Glasgow... **

**Thank you so much for all your continued support with this story- and an extra thank you if you're still with me and still want to read this! **

**-IseultLaBelle x **

**Chapter 12**

**Aberdeen, August 1990**

Her first day at her new sixth form in Aberdeen is completely, unbearably awful, and that's putting it mildly.

It's not the school. The school is in the old part of Aberdeen, located between the university and the beach, a beautiful old building with all the latest equipment and full of teenagers from middle-class families living in fancy, Victorian houses with enormous gardens and good grades and ambitious plans for when they finish their Advanced Highers, and Ange expects to be made to feel instantly like the girl from the council estate in the rough end of Pollok Shields a year older than the rest of them, a year behind where she should be, retaking her Highers year, but it doesn't go like that.

The other students are welcoming, eager to show her around, be her friend. The teachers know she's a teen mum, she knows they do because she brought Chloe with her to her induction, no other choice when her mum was busy with her own university enrolment (although Ange has her suspicion that her mum wanted to make it perfectly clear to her that she couldn't be ashamed of having Chloe if this was going to work, not like she was about having Darren once he was actually here). But they don't mention it. They don't ask her about Chloe, don't expose her in front of everyone, but they don't seem to treat her any differently either, no judgement, no looking her up and down as though they think she's the scum of the earth, the new girl from Glasgow who couldn't keep her legs closed. And she loves being in classes again. She was scared she would have forgotten everything, the week or so before that first day, scared that in the months she spent off her face and skipping school before she had Chloe she would have lost the ability to keep up with her classmates completely, huge gaps in her knowledge of everything she'd chosen to study she'd never get back, but thankfully, it doesn't go like that. Not that first day, at least. She feels excited, inspired, actually looking forward to getting on with her biology homework and desperately trying to decode her Gaelic translation when she gets home, in between Chloe's naps and her feeds and her demands to be held.

It isn't the school that's the problem.

It's being away from Chloe.

Her first day at her new school is the longest she's been away from Chloe since she came out of the NICU last month, but somehow now, after having spent every waking moment with her since, this feels completely different.

It feels as though the world is ending.

She feels… panicked, that day, constantly on edge. Rationally, of course, she knows that Chloe will be absolutely fine with her mum, knows that her mum has promised to call the school and have them let her know if there's a problem, if Chloe needs her to come home, but it isn't that simple.

Her heart just seems to ache, and she can't rationalise why.

Her heart aches, and she can't slip out into the girls' toilets with the pump until almost an hour after she'd normally feed Chloe, tied to break and lunch times and then her breasts ache too. And then she struggles with the stupid thing when she finally does get away, can't get it to work at first and she begins to panic that she won't be able to make this work at all, that her supply will dry up within days of being back in school and then she'll be back to square one with Chloe, struggling to persuade her to take to formula and she'll be losing weight again, slipping further and further off that _stupid_percentile graph in the baby book.

Once that thought has entered her head, Ange just can't stop. She worries that Chloe will change her mind about the bottles she's practiced her with over the last few days and refuse to feed, that she won't sleep without her there to sing to her, cuddle her, will have mewed like a tiny, unhappy kitten all day because she still hasn't started crying properly (and it will come, the midwife has assured her, isn't uncommon with babies born premature, even at this stage, but Ange still can't stop worrying). She worries that Chloe will be so distressed by the time she gets home from school that she'll refuse to feed even for her, won't latch on, will refuse to settle, won't sleep, and she'll be up all night trying to soothe her, even more anxious when she has to leave her again tomorrow, will feel like the worst mother in the world.

Maybe this was all a terrible, terrible mistake.

Maybe she should never have even entertained the idea of going back to school- not this year, at least. Maybe she should have begged the local school board, or whoever it was her mum had to persuade to let her repeat S5 this year to let her wait until next year instead, played the poorly, premature baby card and hoped and prayed to a god she gave up believing in a long time ago they sympathised. And if they'd said no, maybe she should have just accepted that was it, the end of her education, found herself a part-time job in the local supermarket and given up on her dreams of university, told herself it was for Chloe and that was that…

Except her mum would never have agreed to that. Ange knows she wouldn't have, not when she made it so perfectly clear that her offering her support, her making herself available to help look after Chloe, supporting them both financially, allowing them to carry on living in her home, altering her own life almost entirely purely to enable her to keep Chloe, was all on the condition that she went back to school and finished her education.

She has to do this, Ange tells herself that day, repeats it in her head like a mantra whenever her mind starts to wander back to Chloe, plagued with worry in the middle of her classes. She has to do this; not just for her, for Chloe, too.

She's doing this because she desperately needs to for her own sanity, because she's wanted to go to university for as long as she can remember, not entirely sure what it is she wants to study yet but she knows she needs to do it. But it's also for Chloe. It's so she can give Chloe the life she deserves, so all the while Chloe is going to be the daughter of a single teenage mother, she's not going to succumb to all the unjust stereotypes that come with that, so that Chloe can be whatever she wants to be and she won't have to struggle, not like she will, as her mother…

It's for Chloe.

Everything she does is for Chloe, now, to improve Chloe's life.

The trouble is, that doesn't make it any easier.

She's only three months. Approaching four, admittedly, but her corrected age makes her only two months- that's what the midwife told her when she came out to do Chloe's check-up, the first time after she finally brought her home from hospital. And even then, she's been measuring tiny ever since she was born, several weeks too small even for having been born a month early, so that really makes her more like one month, now, corrected.

And Chloe's just as demanding as a one month old still; that's all part of it, the midwives have been explaining to Ange each time they come out to weigh her, each time she's still falling off the end of the growth chart and she's wanting to feed every two hours but it hardly seems to be making a difference, sleeping excessively, often alarmingly still even when she is awake, and then she just wants to be held constantly, tries to cry when she wants feeding or changing or when Ange puts her down for all of two minutes but she still can't quite manage it properly.

It's normal for her to be behind developmentally at this stage, still as demanding as she was supposed to be two months ago, at least, because she was thrust out into the world while she was still too tiny and delicate and underdeveloped to cope and she's playing catch up, most likely will be for a while yet, and that's fine.

It's about _Chloe's_pace, they keep telling her.

She just has to take everything at Chloe's pace for now, and try not to worry.

But surely that's completely incompatible with going back to school, all the time Chloe's still so tiny, needs her twenty-four/seven, ridiculously clingy and temperamental and demands her constant attention…

Just thinking about it all makes her feel sick.

She feels… absent, that day. She's there, physically, of course, but her mind is all over the place, can't switch off from mum mode, no matter how hard she tries.

She's adopted by a group of girls in her tutor group she happens to sit by in maths and then chemistry too, that first morning, ends up eating her lunch with them and they must think she's so rude, maybe even that she's finding them boring, doesn't want to be there, Ange ponders absentmindedly, feels instantly guilty the moment those thoughts enter her head.

She does like them. Michaela, Lorna and Seonaid have taken her under their wing, give her the guided tour of the school, all the top survival tips, who to befriend and who to keep away from, which teachers to watch out for, and they're so _normal_. Not like the friends who turned out to not really be friends at all she wasted eight months hanging around with, dropped out of school and off her face on cheap cider and weed, funding it all by letting Will Murphy palm her off with whoever was interested because she'd been raped, because the world as she knew it had ended and after that she just didn't care anymore, didn't care about anything, couldn't see how she could ever possibly care about anything again so what did it even matter.

She's cautious, reserved, in a way she never was before she had Darren and learnt the hard way who her real friends were, but Ange does like them. They're normal teenagers. They don't hang around disused, crumbling buildings and railway stations and offer sexual favours to boys- or men, really, let's face it, they were men- they barely know to fund their awful habits, don't skip school, talk about normal, innocent teenager stuff, and she likes them. She wants to be part of their little group. She really does.

But they don't have babies.

They don't have babies, and Ange worries that might be a deal breaker.

Are Michaela, Lorna and Seonaid, her apparent new little group of friends, ever going to look at her in the same way again once they know about Chloe? Are they going to decide she's scum, an irresponsible teen mother, her life a world away from theirs and she's not the kind of person she wants to be associating with at all, don't want their parents to find out they're hanging around with the local pram face and that will be the end of that, she'll be alone, friendless again, just have to try her best with the women old enough to be her mother when she finally starts taking Chloe to a baby group (she's been meaning to, she really has, but Chloe has only been out of hospital for six weeks and they've moved up to Aberdeen in that time, life turned upside down again and then Chloe wasn't feeding again and she just didn't want to push it), accept that there's no way in hell she's ever going to have a friend her own age again now she has a baby- for real, this time, keeping her, has a baby forever.

And so, she doesn't tell them about Chloe.

As much as she desperately wants to tell them, to explain that she isn't bored of their company, isn't just horribly rude and self-centred, she just has a baby at home she's never really left before and she's desperately worried about her, feels as though her heart has been ripped in two being away from her, Ange just can't.

She can't.

Every time she tries to tell them, she just can't quite force out the words.

And so she struggles through to the end of the day, somehow, isn't entirely sure how she manages it. Because she has to, Ange supposes. She's watching the clock by the last period of the day, counting down the minutes until she can get home to Chloe and cuddle her, see for herself that she's alright because she knows her mum will phone school if anything happens, if Chloe's totally traumatised and just needs her to come home, but what if? What if her mum just can't make sense of Chloe's totally mixed messages she gives at times, can't work out what it is she wants, what if her mum misses Chloe's faintly pleading mews completely and thinks she's just being cute, doesn't realise she's trying to tell her she wants anything at all?

She feels sick with worry again, by the time the final bell rings.

She feels nauseous, dizzy, disassociated, convinced she's a terrible mother, half completely desperate to get home and back to being a mother and half afraid, already worrying about the state her baby girl is going to be in by the time she gets back.

"We're going to go to the café around the corner for hot chocolate," Seonaid tells her as they walk out along the corridor towards the school gates. "Why don't you come with us?"

"I…" Ange stammers awkwardly.

She doesn't know what to say.

She doesn't want them to think she doesn't like them; that's the last thing she wants. But she can't go. As much as Ange does want to, she knows she can't go.

It would give her mum entirely the wrong idea, for a start. She can't start off the school year like this, can't give her mum the impression that she thinks she can go back to being a carefree teenager with no responsibilities and dump Chloe on her whenever she wants to hang out with her friends, the way she did with Darren.

That, and Ange doesn't think she could bear it if she had to wait any longer to see Chloe, anyway.

It's not that she knows she needs to get back home for her.

It's that she desperately needs to, for her own sanity, not just for Chloe's benefit.

But she can't tell her new friends that, Ange tells herself.

Not yet.

"Sorry, I can't tonight," Ange forces out, strange edge to her voice she can't quite explain.

"Oh, no worries. How about the weekend?" Seonaid suggests. "We could go down to the beach and…"

She has to tell them, Ange realises, sinking feeling in her heart now because she knows there's a chance Seonaid, Lorna and Michaela are never going to look at her in the same way again once she's told them, that they'll have spread it around the whole school by tomorrow and she'll be an outcast for the next two years.

But she has to tell them, has to try.

If she doesn't, they're only going to think she's being standoff-ish and aloof, anyway.

"I… I don't know," Ange admits, suddenly aware that she's shaking. "It's not that I don't want to, I do, I just… it's… I have a baby," she whispers. "I have a baby, she's only three months, I've never left her for this long before and I need to get home to make sure she isn't totally traumatised…"

Her heart is racing now, terrified of their reaction.

"Oh, so _that's_why you've been so anxious all day!" Lorna realises. "We thought you were just really nervous. You know, about starting here. What's her name?"

"Her name's Chloe. I… it wasn't that I was trying to keep her a secret, or anything," Ange covers quickly. "I just… people judge, I didn't want you to think I was some kind of…"

"We don't think that," Michaela reassures her. "Of course we don't. You're still the same person, whether you have a baby or not. So is Chloe with her dad?"

"She doesn't have a dad," Ange clarifies firmly. "She's with my mum, my mum's looking after her while I'm at school. But… I don't know how she'll have been today, she's quite clingy, I need to get home and make sure she's okay and I can't really go out and leave her again, it's not fair on her…"

"You could bring her?" Seonaid suggests. "You don't live far, right? You could always go home and get Chloe, do whatever you need to do and then bring her out with you? We don't mind." She glances between Lorna and Michaela. "Do we?"

"Hi, sweetheart!" her mum calls at the sound of Ange's key in the front door. "We're just through here! How was it?"

"It was good. How's Chloe?" Ange asks anxiously, kicks off her shoes, dumps her schoolbag, practically races into the living room. "Has she…?"

"She's fine." Her mum sits on the sofa under the window, rocks Chloe gently in her arms. "I think you've been missed, though. She went on hunger strike this morning but I managed to get her to feed around one thirty, I thought we might as well wait for you to get back to do her next one, she doesn't seem too bothered at the moment. But she's fine. She hasn't been her usual happy self, but she hasn't seemed distressed, either."

"I'll take her. Oh, Chloe, I'm sorry," Ange soothes. Gently, she scoops Chloe into her arms, all of a sudden, feels complete again, relieved, at peace as her baby girl curls into her chest sleepily, blinks, blue-green eyes staring up at her. "Hi, baby girl. See, I told you I was coming back. I told you Mummy was coming back, didn't I? I missed you. I missed you so, so much, sweetheart. Yes, I did. Yes, I did, Chloe, I missed you so much. I wish I could have taken you with me. That's probably not a good idea though, is it? Hey? That's probably not a good idea, I don't think I'd get anything done if I took you with me to school, would I?"

"But school was alright?" her mum asks. "You enjoyed your classes, you made some friends?"

"Yeah, it was good. I thought I was going to have forgotten everything from last year, but I don't think I have. It wasn't as bad as I thought it might be. Just… you know. It's difficult not to worry about her. So she didn't feed this morning at all…"

"No, but she did this afternoon," Peigi tells her gently. "She's fine, Angel. She definitely wasn't impressed at first, I did keep waking her up to try and feed her and she wasn't having any of it. But once she realised it was a bottle or nothing, she was fine. And she'll make up for it now you're home, you'll see. She just needs to get used to you not being here during the day, that's all…"

"She really can't lose any more weight, though," Ange worries, counts Chloe's tiny fingers, makes a mental note to try and tackle her anxiety over cutting her fingernails later. "She still isn't back on the percentile chart for weight, if she drops any lower…"

"She'll be fine, Angel. She will, I promise. She'll get into a routine pretty quickly."

"But you said she hasn't been happy today, either," Ange points out anxiously. "You said you thought she's been…"

"She's been a bit unsettled," her mum agrees. "You just keep trying to cry, don't you, Chlo? You keep trying to cry but you don't seem to want anything, and you haven't quite worked the crying out yet either, have you, mo ghràdh? No, no you haven't."

"She's probably confused," Ange whispers. "She's probably just really confused, she won't understand why I abandoned her…"

"But she's got you back now. She'll work it out pretty quickly, Ange, she'll settle down. And she hasn't been awful, she really hasn't, she hasn't been doing her best kitten impression all day."

"We need to teach you how to cry properly, don't we, Chloe?" Ange soothes. "Don't we? Hey? You're supposed to be making lots of noise and screaming the house down when you're not happy, you know that, right?"

"Oh, you're so going to take that back in a couple of weeks," Peigi warns. "Just wait until she's actually screaming."

"I'll be happier when she's worked out how to scream, I don't care if she gives me a headache. At least I'll know she can tell us when she's hungry, or she's in pain, or she just wants some attention. I'll worry about her a lot less when she's more vocal."

Chloe snuffles, as if on cue, yawns sleepily.

"Shall we feed you, then?" Ange shifts her in her arms, lets Chloe hold onto her little finger. "Chloe? Shall we feed you, sweetheart, before you fall back to sleep? Yeah? I'm going to take her out," she tells her mum. "I'll feed her and then I'm going to take her out, I'm going to meet some girls in my tutor group at the café on Edinburgh Road."

"Oh, you are?" She's been worried about her mum's reaction, worried that she'll think her daughter is putting her new-found Aberdeen social life above her baby's needs, but if anything, her own mum looks positively relieved. "That's great, sweetheart. I'm glad you've made some friends. And they know you're taking Chlo with you?"

Ange nods, eyes fixed on Chloe who seems to be watching her face intently, trying to focus. "They said they don't mind. I don't think they're just hoping for a cuddle with her, either, I think they really just don't mind. Shall we get you ready to go out then, sweetheart?" she coos, lifts her baby, lays her gently against her shoulder. "Shall we go and feed you and get you changed so you can come out with Mummy? Yeah? Come on then, my gorgeous girl. And you're going to be a good girl for Mummy, aren't you?" she chats to her mindlessly, knows of course that Chloe isn't going to be chatting back but it's just so soothing, somehow; her beautiful baby girl is the only person in her life just now she knows she can count upon not to judge her, to love her unconditionally, no matter what, and she's so, so determined that she's never going to let her down, not ever. "You're going to be a really, really good girl for Mummy, and you're going to let all my new friends have a cuddle with you so they'll want to invite us out with them again? Yeah? Good girl. But even if you're a total nightmare and you won't settle and you keep doing your kitten mewing thing and we end up spending the whole time in the toilets feeding you, I'll still love you. Okay? You can even scream the place down properly and I'll still love you. In fact, I think I'll probably be really, really proud of you the first time you do that."

* * *

"Oh, you're not carrying her, are you?" Peigi groans as she steps out into the hallway, finds Ange holding Chloe against her chest with one arm, pulling her bag onto her shoulder with the other. "Angel! Why I bothered buying her a pram, I really don't know, you never put her in it!"

"She doesn't like it!" Ange protests. "She just wants to be held all the time, she hates me putting her in her pram. We're only going, what, a five-minute walk up the road, I might as well just hold her. She'll be so much happier."

"And it's got nothing to do with you being self-conscious taking her out in her pram?" Peigi raises her eyebrows, unconvinced.

"Nope, it's got everything to do with her fussing when I put her down," Ange insists, even though it's only part of the truth. "But that's okay. That's okay, isn't it, Chloe? I abandoned you for the day, didn't I, if you don't want Mummy to put you down, that's totally fine. I'm not going to drop her, Mum. I've put all her paraphernalia in my bag, I'm just going to carry her, you only need one arm to hold her, anyway, she's still so tiny. We'll be fine, won't we, doll? We don't need your pram."

"And you're going to a café? How are you going to hold onto her and drink a cup of tea at the same time, you'll end up…"

"Well, I'm not drinking tea, am I? Or coffee. She's definitely got a problem with dairy, Mum, she's been feeding so much better since I cut it out. And she doesn't end up with colic afterwards, either. Or, you know, her mewing kitten version of colic. But anyway, I want to like black coffee, but my caffeine cravings aren't quite there yet, so I'll stick to diet coke, thanks." Ange grimaces. "And I can drink that through a straw, so I've still got both hands free. We'll be fine."

Peigi sighs. "Alright. If you're sure. I always found it useful to have somewhere to put you down, when you were a baby, that's all. You can't put her in a highchair, she's far too…"

"Of course I'm not going to put her in a highchair, Mum, give me some credit!" Ange rolls her eyes, hugs Chloe protectively. "She can't even support her head by herself, I'm not going to put her in a highchair, am I? She'd be so uncomfortable. Wouldn't you, darling? I don't think you find the pram much more comfortable, do you, or your baby carrier. If you just want to lie on Mummy, that's totally fine."

"You need to get her used to being put down occasionally," Peigi warns. "She's pretty clingy as it is, if you hold her all the time because she wants you to, you'll end up…"

"She's three months old, Mum. Chloe at the SARC says you can't overindulge babies," Ange tells her own mother firmly, thinks back on all the advice her rape crisis support worker gave her, the afternoon she dropped by to visit with Chloe- her Chloe- before they moved up to Aberdeen last week. "And she's just had to survive a whole day without me, she's probably really confused. Have you been a bit confused, sweetheart? I know. I know, but Mummy's always coming back, okay? Mummy loves you so, so much. If you want cuddles with Mummy, we can do that, can't we? Hey? I might have to put you down for a bit later so I can do my homework, though. Sorry."

"See, this is why I still think you should give a baby sling a try," her mum tries. "She'd probably like that, and then you could get on with your homework without having to worry about her…"

"Nope. I've seen those things, I really would drop her trying to get her trying to get her into one of those." Ange shudders. "And even if I did manage to get her in, I'd just spend the whole time worrying about how I was going to get her out. We don't need one of those, do we, sweetheart? No, we don't. We'll work something out. You might have to sit in your baby carrier and watch me do my homework, or something, but we'll come up with a solution, won't we? When we get back. We won't be long, Mum," she promises. "I'm going to actually study this year, I promise. And I'm not sure I want to deal with feeding her out, anyway."

"Okay. She only had about three ounces, in the end, the whole time you were gone," her mum warns. "She might well decide she's hungry again in an hour or so."

"That's fine. I'll just bring her home, it's only a few minutes. We need to get you onto your percentile chart properly, don't we, Chloe, so you can finally wear all the pretty dresses we bought you. It's all boring stuff in the preemie section, isn't it? And I thought babies were supposed to be chunky. I think she's finally starting to have proper hair, though. Do you think she's going to be a redhead? She's kind of ambiguous at the moment, isn't she?"

"She's pale enough," Peigi agrees. "There's not much in the way of pale, redhead genes on mine or your father's side, she looks like a highland princess, colouring-wise. Was…" she pauses, hesitant. "Might she be a redhead if she takes after the other side?"

Ange shrugs. "I don't know. It's more likely she'll be a light blonde, I think. She's kind of strawberry blonde, isn't she? Maybe? I think she's going to have his eyes," she admits quietly. "Her eyes are kind of similar to mine, aren't they, but they've got more green in them. It doesn't bother me," she says firmly- and it's true, it really doesn't. "She can be his spitting image and I wouldn't care. She's not him, is she? She's never going to be anything like him. It doesn't matter if she has the same eyes, hers are too kind."

She means it, Ange contemplates, as she shuts the front door behind her, presses Chloe gently to her chest.

She's not a changeling child.

It doesn't matter who her father was, what he was, where he came from. It doesn't matter if Chloe resembles her paternal line completely, as Ange is sure she's going to; she can already see it.

Chloe might be tiny- worryingly tiny, still, and she wishes she'd hurry up and gain some weight. But she's starting to grow into her features a little now, and it's perfectly clear she's inherited the pale, rose-tinted skin, sea-blue-green eyes, plump cheeks, rosebud lips of the other side of her heritage.

"I don't mind," Ange chatters to Chloe soothingly, strokes the back of her head with her free hand as she walks towards the café because she's a little nervous, to be entirely truthful, hardly ever taken Chloe out by herself and she's still not used to it, still feels a little vulnerable and she can't explain why. "I don't mind what you look like, you can take after our family or you can… I don't know. He's not your dad, is he? We need to work out how we're going to handle this, aren't we, just for your sake. That's all I mean. You can take after our family or you can look like… we'll take Nana's lead, we'll call it highland princess, shall we? Or warrior queen? I like that better. Highland warrior queen. You're more of an East Slavic warrior queen, I think that's the technical term. I'm not too sure, to be honest, and there's no one I can ask. But we'll go with highland warrior queen. I think that's going to be easier for you, isn't it, all things considered. But the important part is, I don't care. Whoever you take after, I'm going to think you're beautiful. I already think you're beautiful. We're going to be just…"

She glances up, looks both ways at the zebra crossing, and that's when she sees her.

She's standing across the street, just inside the park, up the hill, far enough into the distance that Ange's vision isn't brilliant, that she wants to tell herself it isn't her, but deep down, she knows.

She just knows.

Long, light blonde hair blows out behind her in the wind, and she shivers, white as the snow of her motherland, arms wrapped around herself furiously, clad just in a t shirt and jeans and it's summer still, technically, but late summer in Aberdeen isn't without a bitter chill, especially at this time of day.

It's her.

Ange knows it's her.

She freezes, at first.

It's so unexpected, because she thought she'd escaped.

She thought she'd moved on, she thought moving up to Aberdeen would get her and Chloe away from it all and yet there she is across the street, motionless, staring at her as though she's been waiting, lurking, ready to pounce, shit…

Instinctively, Ange reaches for Chloe's pink tartan baby blanket, McFowlie clan, her grandmother had told her, handmade on Skye by someone or other, family friend she should remember from a childhood that seems long-gone.

She grabs the edges of the baby blanket she's wrapped around Chloe loosely, pulls it up around her own shoulders, so Chloe is covered, so from a distance it might look as though she's just wearing an oddly matched scarf over her school uniform.

Then she crosses the road, turns towards the part of Edinburgh Road that leads down to the café, still doesn't move.

She's alone, Ange realises.

She's alone, and she looks lost, and cold, and suddenly her heart is twisting, torn between doing the right thing and the desperate need to protect Chloe.

Chloe.

Chloe stirs in her arms, snuffles faintly.

"It's okay, sweetheart," Ange murmurs softly. "It's okay." She wraps the baby blanket around her shoulders tighter, until the tiny bundle snuggled against her beneath it is completely hidden.

When she looks up again, the figure in the distance has vanished.

"Nastassya?" Ange calls out- and god only knows why she does it. "Nastassya! Nastassya, it's okay! It's me, it's Ange! Angel! Nastassya!"

But the little girl has gone.

* * *

"Oh, she's adorable, Ange!" Michaela exclaims, as Ange and Chloe finally enter the café a few minutes later, cold, nervous, just a little freaked out but trying so hard not to show it. "Can I hold her?"

"My mum said she's been quite unsettled today," Ange says cautiously, suddenly filled with an awful sense of panic she can't quite rationalise, clutches Chloe tighter against her chest, tucks her small head below her chin. "She's not feeding properly at the moment, I just… sorry. I don't want to risk getting her worked up again, she gets a bit… she's stupidly clingy at the best of times, she doesn't always like being passed around. Next time, yeah?"

She doesn't want to admit that it's only partly that, and partly that now, with Chloe's weight nestled against her, distinctive baby smell, Chloe's small fingers tangled in her hair, is the most relaxed she's felt all day.

She was never like this with Darren.

With Darren, she was always only too eager to palm him off on someone else.

"And she's three months?" Lorna asks. "She's tiny, isn't she? She's like a little doll."

"She's not a toy!" Ange snaps quickly, defensively, runs her fingers across the downy, strawberry blonde fluff on Chloe's head. "I know she's small and she's cute, but she's a _baby_. An actual baby, she's fragile. She's _not_a toy."

Chloe snuffles against her chest, so softly that even Ange has to strain to hear her.

"Sorry. I… I didn't mean… she was premature," she explains quietly. "She was in hospital until she was two months old. And then she wasn't feeding properly until recently, she just kept losing more and more weight. She hasn't caught up yet, she's still not that much bigger than a newborn. A really small newborn."

She doesn't explain what's just happened, of course, the worlds that just collided outside.

How can she?

The only person she's ever told the full story is Chloe- her Chloe, not Chloe at the SARC- and her Chloe isn't exactly going to help her work out where to begin.

"Oh, bless her. She's beautiful, though," Seonaid smiles. "Aren't you, Chloe? Aren't you beautiful?"

Chloe yawns sleepily, wriggles ever-so-slightly, tangles her mother's hair in her tiny fingers.

"Well, I think she's beautiful, but I'm totally biased. It's a bit… it's a bit daunting," Ange admits quietly. "I've never really left her before, not since she came out of hospital, and she's still so little… She's three months, but she's like having a newborn, really, she's quite demanding. And she still can't really cry yet. She's starting to get the hang of it, but she's not always great at letting you know when she wants something. I mean, I can usually tell now. You kind of… I don't know. You start to recognise the things she does when she wants to be fed, or whatever. But she's still not that great at remembering she needs to feed, just yet. It's a preemie thing, apparently. She doesn't always know when she's hungry."

"Who's looking after her when you're at school?" Michaela asks. "Your mum?"

Ange nods. "I mean, she'll be fine. I know she'll be fine, but it's… I don't know. I struggle enough, sometimes, working out what she wants, and she's pretty clingy, she doesn't like me leaving her. It's hard not to worry that my mum won't work out what she wants, or she won't realise if there's something wrong, or something. She'll get used to it. I know she'll get used to me leaving her, but I still feel awful. She's just so tiny, I don't…"

Her heart is still racing.

Her heart is racing, and she's sweating, cold with the sudden fear that came out of nowhere, and she needs to breathe, needs to calm herself down, just for a moment, splash cold water on her face and snap herself out of it, but she can't, because she had to hold onto Chloe.

Maybe her mum had a point about the baby carrier.

"Will you…" She can't quite believe she's asking this, panicking a little at the mere thought, and it's stupid, she knows it's stupid, but she just can't help it. "Do you mind holding her while I run to the bathroom?" She glances between the three of them, offer open to someone, anyone, doesn't want to impose her baby upon anyone in particular when they might have just been being polite. "I just need to…"

"I'll hold her," Michaela offers, face lights up in anticipation.

Ange smiles gratefully. "Thank you. I'll only be a minute, if she starts fussing, do you mind just…"

"She'll be fine," Michaela assures her. "She'll be fine, honestly. I don't mind if she cries."

"Okay. Thank you." Gently, carefully, she lifts Chloe off her shoulder, transfers her into Michaela's arms, wills her to carry on sleeping peacefully. "And if… just hold onto her, yeah? Don't let anyone else hold her, you know… just… anyone who might come in. You'll hold onto her, you won't let her out your sight until I'm back? I'll only be a minute…"

"Of course I won't. Hi, Chloe," Michaela coos. "Aren't you gorgeous? Aren't you gorgeous, Chloe, hey? We're going to be fine, aren't we? We're going to be absolutely fine until Mummy gets back."

Ange watches her just for a moment, just long enough to be sure she's definitely supporting Chloe's head like she should be, before she finally manages to convince herself that she's being stupidly overprotective and takes herself off to the bathroom.

Breathe, she tells herself.

Breathe.

It probably wasn't Nastassya at all.


	13. Chapter 13

**So there is a LOT of medical stuff in this one- I think it should all make a reasonable amount of sense, but if it doesnt please do let me know! I am no medic so it may be slightly simplified, I apologise sincerely if you are and i have messed it all up! **

**Thank you so much Godxrd, guest and Elleigator for your reviews, your feedback is always massively appreciated **

**I just wanted to say too this time- i think i have some of you guys following me on social media, which is totally fine and I don't mind at all- and please do say hi if you want, im quite nice reallt, i promise! But i live in fear of people i dont know from this site discovering my stories, so i would really appreciate it if you keep my undercover identity on here on the downlow- I get very very embarrassed and self-conscious!  
**

**As ever, reviews would be wonderful- and if you have a preference for the next chapter please do tell me!**

**-IseultLaBelle x **

**Chapter 13**

He knows there's something wrong, the moment they step into Chloe's hospital room.

Something additional, that is. Because of course there's something wrong; it's stupid to even word it like that.

His little sister is horribly, dangerously ill, in septic shock, just had enough infected tissue removed that she'll most likely need a skin graft; _of course _there's something wrong.

But it's more than just the mess he left behind when he stormed out- instructed out, admittedly, but still.

He can see it in his mother's face.

Ange looks… traumatised.

There's no other way of putting it.

She's still sat beside Chloe, leaning over onto the hospital bed beside her, head against hers, one arm draped over her chest, free hand stroking her hair absentmindedly, but it's not just that, not just her positioning, fiercely protective of her second baby, the golden child.

(Runt of the litter, as he's come to think of it during his fits of explosive jealousy, over the last few weeks.

He really, urgently, needs to stop doing that. It's not true, for a start, and it's certainly not fair on Chloe.)

It's her eyes, more than anything.

There's a slightly vacant, wide, panicked look in his birth mother's eyes, something about the way she's fussing obsessively over his little sister that convinces Dom that something has happened, something that's freaked her out, caused her to become even more protective than she was before and yet Chloe's obs look relatively stable, thank god, because that's the first thing he checks, eyes fixed upon the monitor before he's even properly glanced at Chloe herself, let alone taken in Fletch, perched on the arm of Ange's chair, hands resting gently on her shoulders.

It seems to take Ange a moment to realise they're there.

She's looked up, as they've pushed the door open, but it's as though it takes her a few moments to process that it's them, as though she's so all-consumed by Chloe that she doesn't have the energy to concentrate on anything else, not fully, not properly.

Maybe that's why she stares back at them blankly at first.

She stares back at them with dull eyes, no real recognition there, no spark, and then her gaze seems to fix upon Peigi, and her lip quivers and her eyes glass over with tears, vulnerable, breaking down.

"Mum," Ange whispers, broken, distraught. "Mum…"

It's as though Dom isn't there at all.

"Oh, Angel, I know. I know, darling, it's alright. It's alright. Try not to get upset." Peigi is by her side in seconds, sits on the edge of Chloe's hospital bed, arms around her daughter and her granddaughter, the three of them suddenly a tangle of limbs, one, combined, and yet Chloe's still, cannula-riddled hands seem to limp and lifeless besides the anxious animation of the older two of their three generations. "It's alright. I know. I know, it's awful seeing your baby like this, isn't it? I know. I know, darling, I wish there was something I could do to make it better." She glances up at Fletch, for a moment, smiles faintly. "You must be Fletch. I'm Peigi, Angel's mum. It's good to finally meet you, I just wish it was just under better circumstances. I've heard a lot about you."

"Oh… likewise," Fletch tells her, though Dom knows him well enough to know that he's lying.

He strongly suspects Ange has told her boyfriend just as much about Peigi as she's told him, before today.

'Just as much' being absolutely nothing.

"How's she doing?" Peigi asks gently. "Angel? She looks… is she… the ventilator…"

"She didn't stop breathing." Ange turns visibly white, closes her eyes for a moment, clings onto Chloe. "I wasn't here, I should have been here, I was in theatre… but no, she didn't stop breathing. Thank god, they didn't have to… it wasn't that. But she's… she was in respiratory distress, her lungs are shutting down, it's… it's the infection. They've just put her on the ventilator to protect her lungs, it wasn't because she stopped breathing. But it's… it's bad, Mum." She practically mouths those next few words, all but silent, evidently back to not wanting Chloe to hear anything too negative. "She's… she's responding to the antibiotics they're treating her with, now they've removed the infected tissue, but it's slow, it's taken her much, much longer to start responding than it should have and she's still not improving anywhere near as fast as she should be. She's struggling. The… she's swollen because her kidneys have shut down and she's not responding particularly well to the dialysis, either- it's fluid retention, essentially. Edema. She must be so uncomfortable. If she's… god, I don't even want to think about that. They don't have her sedated, but her GCS is… sorry. She's comatose, effectively. We don't know how much awareness she has, but she's unresponsive. She's unresponsive and the treatment they've given her has hardly had any impact, her heart's okay for now but if her lung function gets any worse…"

"You can't think like that, Angel. You need to…" Peigi sighs, brushes Ange's hair behind her ear, and slowly, it's dawning upon Dom just how strikingly alike they are- so different, personality-wise, yes, but so physically alike one another. "I know it must be hard, but you need to try and put your medical training aside, just focus on being her mum, not her…"

"How, Mum?" Ange protests. She's sobbing freely now, violently, almost, shaking in distress. "How do you expect me to stop over-analysing her stats, when she's… did Dominic tell you she's… it's all… the infection's originated from where she's been cutting herself, she's got… it's shock, it's not just… she's in shock, her organs are…"

So she has realised he's here, it dawns on Dom now.

She does know he's here, she just isn't openly acknowledging him.

Some of his hurt must have shown on his face, because Fletch is smiling at him faintly, now, sympathetic, warning him off.

_Leave it_, he mouths. _Leave it._

"Yes, he did," Peigi tells her gently. "He did, I know. I know, but Chloe needs you to be strong for her, doesn't she? I know it's hard, but getting upset isn't going to help. She's going to pick up on your anxiety, isn't she, you need to try and stay calm for her. Especially if the doctors are working on the basis that she might have a degree of awareness, she needs to know you're…"

"We don't know that," Ange whispers, broken. "We don't know that, she might be completely…"

"Or she might not. Chlo?" Peigi tries. "Chlo, can you hear us? Hmm? Chloe, it's Nana. See, I told you I was going to come down and see you, didn't I, do you remember, earlier, when your mum had the phone on? I would have just come to visit you down here, mo ghràdh, you didn't have to go to all this trouble just to get me to come and see you. I mean, I know I haven't exactly kept secret how I feel about the land of the English bastards, but I'll always make an exception for you, you know that. Are you going to wake up for me, then? Chloe? Can you squeeze my hand, sweetheart?"

Ange shakes her head, back to stroking Chloe's hair obsessively, brushing it back behind her ears. "Do you not think I've already tried that, Mum…"

"Your mum won't have tried properly though, will she, Chloe?" Peigi retorts. "An cluinn thu mi, a ghràidh? An cluinn thu mi? Tha thu ceart gu leòr, Chloe, tha mi a 'gealltainn. Bidh a h-uile càil ceart gu leòr, chì thu…"

"She's not going to respond if you talk to her in Gallic, Mum!" Ange protests. "She's not responding to English, she's certainly not going to respond to Gallic, is she? She's not going to be aware enough to think about what you're saying to her, for a start…"

"Oh, come on, she won't have to think about that, she'll know. Just because you never learnt…"

"That's not the point, Mum! She's in shock, she's not going to…"

"You never know. You hear about this, don't you, maybe… oh, I don't know, you know I've always been rubbish at science. Maybe the part of her brain that does English isn't up to processing anything much at the moment, but the Gallic part might be. An urrainn dhut mo làmh a bhrùthadh, Chlo?" Peigi tries again. "Hmm? An urrainn dhut feuchainn ri mo làmh a bhrùthadh?"

"Stop corrupting my daughter." Ange glances up at her own mother with her same piercing blue eyes, and Dom can't make sense of their relationship at all, seeing them together, can't decide if they're genuinely irritated by each other's approaches, or if this is just what they're always like with one another.

"Agus nach eil thu a 'smaoineachadh gur tusa am fear a tha ga truailleadh? Ciamar as urrainn dhomh a truailleadh leis a 'Ghàidhlig? Tha _còir aice_Gàidhlig a bhruidhinn. Chlo? Chlo, feumaidh mi gu bheil thu ag aontachadh rium."

"Will you stop showing me up in front of Fletch and Dom, please? Mum teaches Gaelic Studies at Aberdeen uni." Ange's eyes are fixed on Chloe again, as though she can't look away, as though she's so all-consumed by fear and worry and panic that there's only so long she can last without Chloe being her focus. "She… she started her undergrad around the time I had Chloe…"

"Perfect childcare solution," Peigi offers. "Chlo came to all the lectures with me, they were more baby-friendly than sixth form and medical school. And then I used to use her as my oral practice partner, as she got older. Probably why Chloe sailed through her Advanced Higher in Gaelic a year early, and Angel managed to fail her regular Higher twice."

"I did not fail twice, Mum! I failed the first two papers twice, it's not the same thing. And, you know. We all know I shouldn't have even attempted any exams the first time around." Ange glares at her mother.

Peigi shrugs apologetically. "Well, it distracted you for a bit, didn't it? So what happens now?" she asks gently. "Is it just a case of waiting for her to…"

"More or less. She's on antibiotics to combat the sepsis, her blood pressure should be improving now they've got her on medication for that, too, but she's hardly responding to that, either. Same with the corticosteroids- they're just to try and reduce some of the inflammation. She's just not…" Ange shakes her head. "She is responding, but it's… it shouldn't be this slow. She's… if she doesn't start responding properly soon…"

"You can't think like that," Fletch tries softly. "It's not been all that long since she came out of theatre, has it? She could still…"

Ange shakes her head, wipes at her eyes furiously. "I'm losing her," she whispers, voice shaking. "I know I am. She's malnourished, she was severely dehydrated, when she collapsed, her iron and her B12 and her electrolytes are all over the place. She's not strong enough to fight off a minor case of sepsis, let alone septic shock…"

"You're not going to lose her, Angel." There's a strange look of sympathy and understanding in Peigi's eyes now that Dom can't quite make sense of, and she wraps her arms around Ange's shoulders again, sighs, closes her eyes, just for a moment. "I know this must be… this must feel like…"

"I let her down," Ange sobs. "I let her down again, Mum, I promised myself I'd never let this happen again, and I did, I'm such a terrible mother, I can't even protect her from…"

"Ange, no," Fletch insists, crosses the room, joins their hug of tangled limbs. "You're not a terrible mother. You're not. I know it's hard, but you need to try and stay calm. For Chloe, if nothing else. She had…" He looks up, glances between Peigi and Dom hesitantly, as though he can't decide if whatever he's about to say is only going to make it all so much worse. "She had a panic attack, right before you two arrived."

"What?" Peigi's voice is laced with worry now, fusses over her own daughter. "Angel?"

"I'm fine," Ange insists through her tears. "I'm fine, it was just… I don't know. I just… I can't help thinking… is that how Chloe feels every time, does Chloe go through…"

"Yes," says Fletch simply. "Yes, she probably does. But she has you, doesn't she? She has…"

"I'm not there every time she has a panic attack, Fletch, that isn't helpful…"

"But she knows you love her," Fletch improvises. "She knows you love her, and she knows she has…"

Dom doesn't think he's ever seen Fletch look as relieved as he does when he's cut off by Serena appearing in the doorway.

"Hi, Ange," she smiles faintly. "Dr Munroe's asked me to come and take another look at Chloe's graft…"

"What?" Ange looks up frantically, eyes wide. "She never said… you've only just got her out of surgery from…"

"Alicia came in to do her obs while you were calming yourself down in the toilets," Fletch explains apologetically.

"Yes, you said!" Ange snaps. "But you didn't say when she looked at Chloe's graft there were signs of rejection, you didn't…"

"Dr Munroe hasn't told me she thinks Chloe's rejecting the graft," Serena assures her gently. "She's just asked me to come and take a look. Okay? Let's not jump to conclusions just yet." She peels back Chloe's blankets, gently pushes Ange aside, turns to Peigi. "Are you…"

"Peigi Godard. I think you want to speak to me, I'm Chloe's grandmother, I'm down as her next of kin? Though it's Angel you should be speaking to, really. I'm only… it's only been more practical, really, having me down as her next of kin, I guess Chloe's just never updated it on her medical records, since she and her mum have been out of Scotland. Really it makes much more sense for you to talk to Angel…"

"I can talk to you both. Serena Campbell, I'm one of the surgeons treating your granddaughter. I'm going to check on the state of Chloe's graft first," Serena explains. "I'm sure Ange has brought you up to speed already- we've had to remove some of the worst affected tissue from her abdomen- the sepsis has originated from wounds to her abdomen. Ange has already told us… we've made a note of it. There's nothing we can do just now while she's unresponsive, but as soon as that changes, we'll arrange a psych assessment for her. She's not stable enough for a skin graft just now, we can't risk putting her through that trauma, so we used a prosthetic graft in theatre. It's a temporary solution, we'll need to get her back into theatre for a skin graft once she's more stable. The hope is that Chloe will tolerate the prosthetic graft until she's strong enough for surgery…"

"But she might not?"

"No, early rejection is the worry." Serena peels back the surgical dressings carefully. "Or further infection, given Chloe's condition currently, though it would be… oh. Oh, okay." She pauses, grimaces a little, and even from the other side of the room, Dom can see exactly what she's so thrown by. "We wouldn't expect this much fluid and further inflammation under the graft," she explains apologetically to Peigi. "Not at this stage. Ultimately this was always going to be a temporary measure, prosthetic grafts will always be rejected eventually, but we wouldn't expect to be seeing signs of rejection so soon. It's…" she pauses, just for a moment, and to Peigi, perhaps it's not particularly worrying, Dom considers, just allowing her to take in what she's just told her, nothing more.

But to him, it's something very different.

It's what he does himself in surgery, what he's watched Ange do multiple times while operating, or while on the ward, even, in front of relatives, when something throws her and she's still trying to work out how she's going to tackle it, whether the situation is even salvageable, but she doesn't want her patients and their relatives to know it.

"It's not entirely unexpected, given the circumstances," Serena covers, tone a forced reassuring now and Dom knows better than to fall for her act. "Chloe's still got a long way to go fighting off the sepsis, it's not completely surprising she isn't tolerating a prosthetic graft. It's not awful, we aren't going to have to get her straight back into theatre and remove it. But she is already starting to reject it, by the looks of things. It could be the infection, we'll need to keep an eye on it- she's already on the maximum dose of antibiotics we can safely give her. But I think we'll almost certainly need to remove the graft earlier than we were hoping. Okay, Chloe," she murmurs. "You're doing so well. I'm just going to reapply the dressing and it'll be over."

"She's just going to reject another prosthetic graft," Ange points out, panicked. "She's just going to keep rejecting prosthetic grafts if she's rejecting this one at this stage, and if she's managing that but she's still not fighting off the sepsis…"

"An autologous graft really isn't advisable," Serena finishes. "I know. An autologous graft would mean we'd take skin from Chloe's thigh to place over her abdominal wound," she explains for Peigi's sake. "It's a transplant, effectively, she's lost enough tissue to the sepsis that we need to replace it if she's going to heal. It's a permanent solution, a prosthetic graft is only ever temporary, but the advantage of the prosthetic at this stage is it's less invasive for Chloe. If she can tolerate it, that is, which it doesn't look as though she's going to for long. But I don't want to put her through an autologous graft at this stage unless it's unavoidable, she's already under a huge amount of stress with the septic shock. And we certainly don't need to be risking another infection, all things considered. Not when she's responding so slowly to the antibiotics as it is."

Ange closes her eyes in despair.

"There is another option." She glances at Ange apprehensively. "We could consider an allograft- we could take tissue from a matched donor to use as a graft for the time being. It's a temporary solution, we'll still need to go back in for an autologous later. But with tissue from a matched donor… it might buy us some time. Chloe will reject it eventually, yes, but she could well tolerate it for longer than it looks as though we're going to be able to leave her with the prosthetic. If you wanted to go ahead with that, we'd need to run some tests first. We ran Chloe's bloods before we took her into theatre, she's B negative…"

"What does that mean?"

"It means rare as fuck, Mum," Ange forces out shakily. "It means only about 1% of blood donors share her blood type, it means…"

"I think we're best looking at immediate family," Serena interrupts gently. "For this, anyway. If you're both willing, we can get you tested now- I think it's best we assess how feasible the allograft option is before we consider it as a serious possibility. It might be worth contacting Chloe's father, too, if he isn't already aware…"

"She doesn't have a father." Ange glares up at Serena defensively.

"Okay. Okay, but even if he hasn't been involved in Chloe's life for a long time, if your bloods come back as A type, it might be worth trying to contact…"

"You're not getting it! Chloe doesn't have a father! Alright? There is no one I can contact on that side, no one! I wouldn't even know where to start, not to mention I cannot and I will not put Chloe through that, she wouldn't be safe…"

"Alright. Alright, I'm sorry," Serena apologises. "That isn't an option, I understand."

"You can test me," Ange tells her firmly.

"And me," Peigi adds.

"You can take whatever you like from me, whatever you need to get her through this. But I am not contacting that monster, so don't even ask. It's not an option. I don't even…" she trails off, shakes her head, almost as though she's worried she might have said too much. "I don't even know if he's still alive, he's almost certainly moved away, it's been thirty years. He could be… it's not an option. I could give you a hundred reasons why it's not an option, but I'm not going to do that in front of Chloe while she's…"

"Understood. I'll get onto phlebotomy and dermatology, I'll arrange for someone to come up and speak to you about…"

They've forgotten all about him, Dom realises.

"Can I be tested?" he blurts out. "I mean… I know I'm only a half sibling, but…"

"It's worth a shot," Serena agrees. "Alright. We'll take it one step at a time- like I said, we'll need to investigate whether this is a viable option before we…"

"It won't be." Ange shakes her head, clings onto Chloe again.

"Let's just wait for the test results before we…"

"But she's going to have _his _blood type," Ange whispers, distraught. "I know she is. I just know."


	14. Chapter 14

**I am so, so sorry it's been so long! I was ill over xmas and new year and I've had a lot of real life stuff on, and I just haven't had any time to sit down and write until this week. But I'm back properly now and I promise you won't have to wait so long next time! Thank you so much MegWritesx, Guest, Aggie, Katie and for reviewing the last chapter, and to all of you for being so patient with me. **

**Reviews would be amazing as ever- it would be very reassuring to know if I still have any readers left! **

**And this chapter is for Sydney, who is a total superstar. She knows why. **

**-IseultLaBelle x **

**Chapter 14**

**Aberdeen, May 1991**

"Chloe? Chloe, look. You see, it's a tunnel, isn't it? Look, you can crawl through it, like that other baby's doing. Shall we try that? Yeah? Look, if Mummy puts you down here." Ange places Chloe down at one end of the pop-up baby tunnel… _thing_, because god only knows what its proper name is, runs around to couch down on the other side, peer back at Chloe through the tunnel opening. "There you go, look. Chloe! Chloe, are you going to come to Mummy? Yeah? Come on, can you crawl through to Mummy, sweetheart? Chloe!"

Chloe just blinks back at her from her position lying on the floor, face down, glances upward, prime crawling preparation position and thoroughly unimpressed.

_Don't be so ridiculous, Mummy_, her eyes seem to tell her.

Ange sighs. "Chloe! Chloe, come here!"

"Mamama," says Chloe hesitantly, maintains her gaze at Ange through the play tunnel opening, but still there's no indication that she's even going to attempt making her own way back to her.

"Nope. You're cute, and I love you, but I'm not going to do it for you, Chloe. I'm making you do this _because_I love you, okay? Otherwise we're going to keep getting visits from that awful health visitor, and I'm not sure which one of us hates her more. So you need to learn to crawl. Okay? And then we need to get you saying your first words, and standing, and if we can do all that and get you onto the stupid growth chart thing properly, then maybe she'll leave us alone. Chloe, can you say 'mama?'"

"Dadadadada."

"No, we don't need those, do we? Dads are totally overrated, you don't need a dad, sweetheart. Mama."

"Mamamamama."

"So close. We'll keep working on that one, okay? But can you come here? Chloe? Look, can you come to Mummy? Or you can bum shuffle it if you're really not feeling the crawling, the nice doctor we went to see last week said some babies skip the crawling and go straight from bum shuffling to walking, didn't she? Chloe!"

But all Chloe does is whine loudly in protest, and all of a sudden, Ange is aware of all the other mothers staring at them.

The perfect, Aberdeen middle class old-enough-to-actually-be-mothers and their perfect, developmentally-ahead babies, Ange ponders bitterly.

That just about sums up everything she hates about coming here, really.

If it was down to her, they wouldn't be doing baby group at all.

It's the worst part of her week; she starts dreading it days in advance and she and Chloe are only thee an hour.

She hates the way the other mothers all look at her like she's worthless, scum of the earth, awful chavvy teen mum, hates that she's the youngest mother there by a good ten years, feels horribly out of place, imposter-like, and she knows she's managing just fine with Chloe, knows Chloe is loved and cared for and secure.

But she also knows that Chloe is one of the oldest babies now the rest that started with them have moved up to the next group, and still she's the smallest, the only one that isn't crawling, hasn't mastered her fine motor skill milestones she should have, either, hardly manages to make use of the play equipment provided in the church hall unless Ange practically does it all for her.

And she knows that the other mothers have most definitely noticed, that they and the group leader have already labelled Chloe as behind, clingy, struggling already and she's not even a year old yet, so how much worse is it going to be by the time she's starting school?

_Is_Chloe going to be starting school when she should be, even?

She'd thought that was more or less a given, that her baby girl's development might be behind but it surely isn't _that_bad, not yet, until Chloe's paediatrician refused to give her the reassurance she was practically taking for granted would be offered up at her appointment last week, told her it was too early to see either way and threw her completely.

The other mothers at Chloe's baby group, on the other hand…

Ange knows they wonder. Or maybe that isn't fair; maybe they aren't wondering at all, but she's so consumed by the guilt and the unknown of it all herself, so paranoid, so ashamed, that she's convinced anyone looking at her and Chloe would know straight away what an awful mother she is, the damage she might have done to her baby girl before she was even born, the reason she's so tiny, so anxious the moment she can't quite see her mother, still behaving as though she's seven or eight months, rather than almost a year old.

Maybe she's just so paranoid about it herself that it's all in her head.

Then again, maybe not.

Nome of the other mothers who bring their babies here have made even the slightest effort with her, steer their children away from Chloe as though they're afraid whatever it is that's meant she still hasn't caught up to where she should be yet is contagious, as though their perfect, advanced, actually on the percentile chart babies are above her own. That, and she strongly suspects they've all already branded Chloe as the child of the teen mother, made all sorts of assumptions without even giving her a chance, and that might not affect Chloe now, but she can't help but worry what it might do to her by the time she's old enough to understand.

Those are just some of the reasons Ange hates baby group with a passion, and she'd never go back if it were down to her, but it isn't.

Chloe's health visitor has arranged for her to come and interact with other babies and practice all the developmental milestones she's failed to hit with the toys and the play equipment (which is a joke, because Chloe hasn't mastered anything well enough to take advantage of the toys and the play equipment on offer, and so realistically, none of the other babies were ever going to take any notice of her, really), and for Ange to get to meet some other parents (again, total joke, given the other mothers won't even give her a chance), and she's made it perfectly clear that Chloe has been given these sessions for free because she's classed as 'disadvantaged,' whatever the hell that's supposed to mean.

She's also made it perfectly clear that the whole thing is entirely non-negotiable, no matter how strongly Ange protests.

She truly couldn't think of a worse way to spend her Thursday afternoons.

Why can't they just all leave her to it?

She's a good mother. God knows she messed up spectacularly at the start; but that was different, she didn't _know _about Chloe, then.

Ever since Chloe was born, she's been a good mother. Maybe she's never going to win mother of the year, but she's not bad at it, either. She's done everything right, Ange knows she has.

Everything with Chloe has been completely, unrecognisably different to how it was with Darren.

Ange has made sure of that.

Chloe comes first. Right from the start, Chloe has come first, always will come first, now, forever.

Ange just can't imagine ever feeling any different about that.

She loves her. She loves her more than she's ever loved anyone before in her life, but it's so much more than that. It's as though there's an inherent need, an aching inside her, yearning to protect her, her perfect little baby, precious, beautiful, ray of sunshine, _hers_.

And they've got a brilliant system going.

She sticks around after school for half an hour to make a start on her homework, gets to the community centre where her mum teaches highland dancing and ballet and modern dancing and yoga and new-age meditation bullshit by 4pm, picks up Chloe. She takes Chloe home, makes her dinner, feeds her, plays with her, tries to gently encourage her to pull herself up on the baby walker thing her own grandparents bought for her baby girl, sings to her, offers her all the toys that are still way beyond her abilities and tries not to blame herself when Chloe won't even try, just wants her to entertain her instead. She baths her, reads her a bedtime story, kisses her goodnight and then she comes downstairs to finish off her homework once Chloe is fast asleep, because she's absolutely determined to finish her Highers this time and build a better future for Chloe, but there's no way in hell she'll be doing it in a way that negatively affects her in the short term.

Ange knows she's doing everything right.

Whatever the reason Chloe hasn't caught up to where she should be, it's not because of anything she's doing wrong now.

She does know that.

Sometimes it's hard to remember, but deep down, she does know it.

And most of the paediatricians and nurses and health visitors and various assorted specialists she's had to take Chloe to see over the last year have looked beyond her age and her defensiveness about the whole messy pregnancy she had with her second baby, the disaster she made of being a mother with her first baby, in all fairness. They've been patient with her tendency to take worrying about Chloe to ridiculous extremes, seem to understand, always willing to reassure her when necessary.

That's why Chloe's consultant's reluctance to commit either way as to whether Chloe will ever quite catch up with her peers, be doing all the things she should be by the time she's due to start P1, has freaked her out completely.

But the point is, everyone Ange has taken Chloe to see at the hospital, at the GP, anywhere else they've gone for Chloe's check-ups since she finally got her out of the Glasgow Children's Hospital NICU have been supportive, reassuring, tried their hardest to convince her that she's doing brilliantly at the whole being a mum thing this time around, that Chloe is lucky to have her, clearly loves her, advancing at her own admittedly slow pace at the moment and that has to be taken as a good thing. (Well, almost everyone, and she's a teen mum who gave birth to a scarily tiny, premature baby after seven months unaware she was even pregnant and another frantically concealing it, off her face on weed and cheap cider and chain smoking in between sleeping around for more weed and more cheap cider and occasional hard stuff, after all- she can't exactly expect everyone involved in Chloe's medical care to be friendly and forgiving.)

So if she's really doing the amazing job at being an eighteen year old, reformed, clean, sober mother to a tiny, struggling, overly clingy and dependant and reluctant to try anything new almost one year old they all keep telling her she is, then why is the stupid health visitor so adamant it's an absolute, non-negotiable necessity that she keep bringing Chloe to a church hall baby group clearly neither of them are getting anything out of?

And if she isn't, and they're all lying to her, then what difference do they really think an hour a week in a cold church hall becoming increasingly despondent is going to make?

Surely they should be sending Chloe for speech therapy, physiotherapy, even, if they're really concerned?

Are speech therapists and physiotherapists for babies even a thing?

Chloe wails again, louder this time, glances up at her mother with more desperation than she'd like.

All the baby books are adamant she should be happy to explore on her own by now, as long as she can still see her mother at a safe distance, ready to step in if needed.

So why won't _her_baby?

"Chloe! Chloe, look, you can do it." Ange moves back around to pick her up, tries gently encouraging her forwards, knows deep down that there isn't a hope in hell of her baby girl suddenly getting the hang of shuffling herself forwards all by herself when she's shown no signs of being ready whatsoever, but knowing it doesn't stop her hoping. "Look, what if I… no? No, you're just going to lie there, aren't you? Okay. Okay, fair enough, then. You're staying there, though, I'm not picking you up," she warns. "You need to work out how to do this, sweetheart. We're going to keep at this until you get the hang of it."

"She's still not crawling, then?" one of the other mothers smiles at her pityingly. "How old is she now?"

"She's going to have her first birthday the week after next." Ange scoops Chloe up protectively, glares, dares the other mum to comment, because she's been here enough times now to know exactly where this conversation is going. "She's just quite small for her age…"

Chloe wiggles in her arms, tries to pull off the bright yellow flower headband she put on her this afternoon in between getting in from school and bringing her here (because she can't do anything about the other mothers judging Chloe for having a teenager for a mum, but Ange will _not _have them judging her appearance and concluding she looks neglected, living up to the baby of a teenage mother stereotype).

"Oh… I'm sure she'll get there. She was premature, wasn't she? I remember you saying the first week you brought her. We've been really lucky with Shona. She was premature, too, but she was crawling by the time she was six months. Have you spoken to her paediatrician?"

"She's _fine_." Ange shoots her the dirtiest look she can possibly manage. "She's just… she's just really, really not that bothered about moving around on her own just yet. Are you, Chloe? Hey?"

"Mamamamamamama," Chloe babbles obliviously, grabs a fistful of Ange's hair.

The other mother grimaces a little, and perhaps it's in sympathy, admittedly, but Ange isn't feeling like giving her the benefit of the doubt.

"Her speech isn't great either, is it? Shona's pronunciation was much clearer by the time she was eleven months, she was starting to use proper words, too. Maybe you should think about getting her seen by a…"

"She doesn't need to be seen by anyone!" Ange snaps angrily. "She's _fine_! She's just… doing everything at her own pace. That's all. I'm… I'm not worried."

That last part isn't quite true, of course, but no part of her wants to think about the awful, depressing paeds appointment she took Chloe to last week.

"Do you take someone with you?" the other mother- Ange can't for the life of her remember her name- frowns, unconvinced, judgemental. "When she has her check-ups. You know, just to be sure someone's fully comprehending everything that's being…"

"So what are you saying, that just because I'm young, I can't look after my own daughter?"

"Of course not. Only… I've been through it too, having a premature baby. Shona's consultant says they've usually more or less caught up by this age, if they were born around the thirty-six-week mark, and Chloe was a thirty-six-weeker too, wasn't she? I'd have expected her to be doing pretty much everything a full-term baby would at this stage after everything Shona's consultant has said, that's all. You're doing an amazing job, I don't doubt that. Chloe's very lucky to have you. I just think… needs to be assessed for…"

"So you think there's something wrong with her? Is that it? Who made you a paediatrician?" Ange glares furiously, lifts Chloe off her lap and into her arms, grips onto her, stands, fight or flight mode well and truly activated. "Worry about your own baby, yeah? Stop commenting on mine. Come on, Chloe," she soothes, cuddles her tightly, storms towards the doors back out of the church hall to grab her bag (not the pram, because it's only a five-minute walk up the road or so to get home, and Chloe has made her dislike for it perfectly clear over the last eleven months), out the building and crossing the road with Chloe by the time the baby group leader runs after her, wraps her coat around them both, grips onto her baby with one hand temporarily so she can use the other to adjust the headband now sliding off the back of her head, counts her fingers, fusses over her because it's the one thing she _can_control, because everything she does now is always, always for Chloe.

"Angel! Angel, wait! Please! Angel!"

Ange sighs.

"I'm not coming back in!" she shouts over her shoulder to Sonya, the baby group leader. "Look… we'll come back next week, yeah? Maybe. Probably… okay, okay, so we'll definitely come back next week. I just… I'm not coming back in today!" she protests. "I'm taking Chloe home and we'll be back next week, but I'm not taking her back in there today! And it's Ange!"

"Ange, then! I'm sorry!" Sonya runs across the road, holds up her hands apologetically to the bus driver forced to come to a premature halt ahead of the traffic lights. "I'm sure Joanna didn't mean to upset you…"

Ange rolls her eyes, rocks Chloe gently in her arms. "So you heard exactly what she said, and at no point did it cross your mind to tell her she was being out of order? Being a young mum doesn't mean I'm useless…"

"Joanna didn't say that, Ange…"

"Oh, come on, don't tell me that wasn't what she meant! I'm just… I'm sick of it, okay!" Ange protests. "I'll keep bringing Chloe, because the health visitor wants me to and I'm all for anything that might help Chloe. But I'm so sick of the way they all look at me. They don't have to like me, the other mums. I'm not saying that. Believe me, I'm pretty used to people not liking me. But they don't have to treat me like I'm a shit mother just because I was half their age when I had Chloe, either."

Sonya's expression softens. "What if I have a word with everyone when we finish today, and…"

Ange shakes her head firmly, defiant. "That will make it worse."

"You don't know that, Ange…"

"Yes. Yes, I do. My… my school in Glasgow tried that, after I had my first baby. And then again, after…" She holds onto Chloe tighter now, because the pain is still there, and the mere thought of giving up Chloe the way she had to give up Darren threatens to tear her heart to pieces all over again. "After I gave him up for adoption. You know, before I came back to school. It didn't work. It just made everything so much worse, I'm not going there again. Look… it doesn't matter, okay? I'm… I'm used to it. You know, the people looking down their nose at you because you're a teen mum thing. As long as they don't take it out on Chloe, they can think what they like about me. So I'm taking Chloe home now," Ange tells her firmly, turns, carries on walking before Sonya can protest. "I'll be back next week, okay! You don't have to report me to the health visitor people."

"Kaaaalala," says Chloe uncertainly, winds Ange's hair around her small fists.

"I know, sweetheart," Ange tells her quietly, buries her face in Chloe's hair. I know."

It's too soon to know, either way. That's what the paediatrician told her at Chloe's appointment last week.

It's far too early to know if Chloe is falling further and further behind where she should be developmentally because she's just slow to catch up, nothing to worry about in the long term, or because Ange's drug and alcohol abuse the best part of her entire pregnancy has left her with foetal alcohol syndrome and a whole host of other conditions, if she's the worst mother in the entire world and she's just going to have to live with it, be reminded of all the damage she's done to her beautiful little girl, all the things she'll never be able to do because she didn't get her shit together in time, whenever she looks at her.

Chloe…

"Shall we go to the park, Chloe?" Ange suggests brightly, puts on her best baby voice, cheerful, upbeat, hides the panic and the aching in her heart. "Yeah? Shall we go and sit in the park for a while before we go home? Yeah? Come on, then. That's your favourite place, isn't it, sweetheart? And we can see if there are any of your doggy friends there today, can't we? You're so going to end up being a vet when you grow up, aren't you? Or a… well, we'll see. I love you, my sweet girl," she whispers, mentally scanning the park for the puppies she knows are friendly and suitably gentle before they're even in through the gates, and she swore she'd never be a god person, but how can she not when Chloe seems to love them so much. "Shall we go around to the lake and see if that bench we like is free? Yeah? And then we'll see the dogs if they're there, won't we?"

Chloe blinks, glances around curiously.

"What do you reckon, then?" Ange asks her. "Chloe? I reckon we go back next week, and we keep going until the health visitor says we don't have to anymore. But I'm not making an effort with the other mums anymore, okay? Sorry. We don't really need friends at the moment, do we? Friends with babies, I mean. We've got my school friends, I think they love you more than they love me, to be honest. And we'll try again when you're old enough to have your own friends. But we're not doing trying to be friends with that lot. Nope, I don't need mum friends, do I? Honestly, and they think teenagers are immature. I've got you, my lovely girl, why would I need any other friends? Hey? You're the only one I can have a sensible conversation with half the time."

"Hararara," Chloe babbles, as though to prove her point.

"_Exactly_. You get it. That's just what I was thinking, too, you're totally in synch with Mummy. Aren't you, darling? Shall we sit here? Come on then."

"Mamama."

"You're so close, Chloe! You're so, so close. Can you say 'Mama?'"

"Anana."

"Nope. You're not calling me Ange, I'm not being that mum. Sorry. You're just going to have to keep working on it. The age gap's questionable as it is, sweetheart, you can't call me Ange. No one will ever believe you're mine, for a start."

"Aaaaaaaara."

"I totally agree."

"Kuh!" Chloe waves her arms excitedly, points.

"Oh, are you looking at the ducks? Or the dogs? I know you like dogs, sweetheart, but we don't know that dog, do we? That one might not be baby friendly."

"Alalalalala."

"You think he is? Or she. Might be a girl, I guess. We'll have to ask the owner if they come over, won't we? Yeah? Okay. Let's do that. Chloe, can you say dog?"

"Uh."

"Oh, okay, did Mummy pick a tricky one?"

"G…. Garara. Mamamana."

"Interesting. I thought maybe dog might be easier, you've only got one syllable to get out for dog, haven't you? Fair enough, though. You're the expert. Look, Chloe. Look, what if Mummy puts you down- hey, it's okay. I'm not going to just let you fall, sweetheart, I promise. Look, I've got your hands, you can't fall, can you?'" She holds Chloe gently into a standing position at her feet, grips onto her hands tightly, holds her upright, makes sure she can lean back against her legs because there's no way in hell her daughter is going to work out how to balance all by herself out of nowhere. "There you go. You're so clever, aren't you, Chloe? Hey? Good girl."

Chloe glances between her mother and the ducks swimming across the lake towards them curiously, eyes wide, definitely interested, but no part of her seems bothered about trying to reach them by herself, breaking away from Ange's grip the way the other babies at Sonya's baby group do.

Ange sighs heavily.

"You take your time, sweetheart," she tells Chloe gently, heartfelt. "There's no rush. I'll always love you, no matter what, okay? Whether you catch up with everything you're supposed to be learning to do or you never get there, it doesn't matter. I'll still love you more than anything else in the world, my sweet girl. And if… if I've… hurt you, somehow, if you're going to have to struggle your whole life because of all the damage I did to you when I was pregnant, then I'm so, so, sorry, Chloe. Mummy is so, so sorry…"

"Muh-mee," says Chloe proudly, smiles at Ange with a look of pure, baby adoration. "Mummy, Mummy, Mummyyyyyyy."

Ange bursts into tears.


	15. Chapter 15

**I'm so sorry it's been so long again! As some of you know I had a lot of real life stuff going on last month, but I'm starting to get back into writing now and I will really try to make sure you don't have to wait so long next time! **

**Reviews would make me very very happy, I always worry I'm going to lose all my readers when I go a while without updating, so please do let me know if you're still reading this! And thank you so much to Godxrd for reviewing the last chapter! **

**-IseultLaBelle x **

**Chapter 15**

**Glasgow, One Week Earlier**

Several hours pass, before Chloe finally musters the courage to go through with it.

She spends the first hour curled up on the double bed in her hotel room with Emina on speaker phone, Emina desperately trying to convince her to leave, leave now, pack her suitcase and drive, just drive, head back down to Holby just in time to catch her mum and Dom and Fletch on their last round of drinks in Albies, or wherever it is her mum said they're off to this evening for their vigil, silent mourning of the night her mother's life was ripped apart and she was forced upon her- Chloe can't remember if her mum even mentioned where they were going.

She needs to tell her mum, Emina insists. And she understands if Chloe doesn't want to tell her today, all things considered, but she needs to tell her, to explain why she's now even more distraught about it all and full of self-loathing than she was before.

Her mum won't be angry with her for looking, Emina had tried to reassure her. Perhaps she'll wish that Chloe hadn't done it- especially now that it's caused her so much distress, had her so filled with self-hatred that she got through an entire pack of plasters and half the toilet paper supply provided in her hotel bathroom dealing with the aftermath.

She hasn't told Emina that part, of course, but she isn't stupid. Chloe knows she'll have worked it out- will have heard the pain in her voice, if nothing else. (Stupid, Chloe, stupid. If only she hadn't cut so deep she might not have given the game away.)

Emina had been adamant, though, fought to get through to her that her mother wouldn't be angry if she told her. That any initial upset Ange might feel at having it all dragged up again by her own daughter would be immediately displaced by concern for her, because she'd understand. She'd know how shaken Chloe must be feeling now, too late to take it all back, pretend she never saw it.

Her mum would understand why she did it in the first place, come to that.

Chloe didn't mean to.

She really didn't.

She never really wanted to.

But the morbid curiosity that's lain dormant within her for so many years seemed to rise to the surface again after everything with Dom came out, after her mum's decision to keep her despite how she had her suddenly began to make even less sense, and she tried so hard to not let it tear her apart but she just couldn't do it. And then Evan…

Evan.

It would be better if she knew, Evan had said. He'd claimed that it would help her lay it all to rest, that she'd be able to move on, once she knew everything there was to know, and she certainly wasn't going to be getting the information she needed to do that from Ange.

She needed to see it all for herself, the truth of it, the details, if she was ever going to break free of her self-harming cycle, stop seeing herself as a monster.

That's what Evan had told her.

And so she went along with it, on self-destruct, almost, because she's an idiot, and even now, even with him practically stalking her, having lied to her, manipulated her into a marriage, covered up an ex-wife and child and refused to let her walk away from him, move on, she's still taking his advice.

Why is she still taking Evan's advice?

Even now, here, parked in the car park of the Auldhouse Arms, Pollokshields, after the trauma of this morning at the Glasgow City Archives, she's still taking Evan's advice.

Even when it's so perfectly clear to her that the real reason he wanted her to go through with this is because he knew it would break her.

Because he knew she wouldn't survive it on her own, would only end up leaning heavily upon him again in her torment, break down, spiral back into the grasps of self-destruction again and then he'd have her exactly where he wanted.

Weak.

Dependent.

Trapped.

She's such an idiot.

She's such an idiot, and she just wants her mum, but Chloe is too ashamed to go to her.

Her mum wouldn't even hesitate to offer her the reassurance she needs just now, Emina had told her. (And Chloe knows that, of course; she's not totally lost it, not yet.) Her mum will tell her that none of has ever affected the way she's seen Chloe, that she's _her_daughter, not his. Her mum will tell her that all the thoughts racing through her head now, threatening to consume her, are simply not true, that she loves her, that no part of her has ever regretted _her_, that it's just DNA, just cells, meaningless, not what makes her _Chloe_.

Her mum will understand.

Her mum will put her mind at rest, make it all seem better, insignificant again.

Except it isn't that simple, Chloe had protested to Emina.

She can't tell her mum.

She wants to.

What she's discovered today has shaken her more than anything else has ever before, more than her mother's initial confession to her as to how she was conceived, even, and Chloe had truly believed nothing would ever come close to that again.

She wants her mum to comfort her.

She wants her mum to hug her tightly and tell her that none of it matters, that it doesn't bother her, never has.

She _needs _her mum to tell her she loves her, more than ever before.

But she's scared.

She's scared that her mum has never loved her, that her suspicions back when she first discovered she had a half-brother were right after all.

That's the truth of it.

She's scared that her mum has always viewed her exactly as she can't imagine ever not seeing herself again now; as an abomination, evil, tainted by the violence and the pain and the devastation and the trauma brought about by her father.

She's scared that she's unlovable, that her mum has never truly been able to separate her, her daughter, from the man who raped her, simply spent the last twenty-nine years telling her that she has, maybe even telling _herself_that she has, because she didn't have another choice.

She's scared that her mum wouldn't have even hesitated to book herself in for an abortion if only she'd known she was pregnant with her early enough to make that choice, that ever since, her mum has been desperately trying to keep up her façade, convince herself as much as she's tried to convince the world that she wanted to be her mother, but really…

She's scared that deep down, her mum has always known she's a vile, corrupted, worthless waste of space. She's scared that her mum never wanted her, not even for a moment, has perfected the art of pretending otherwise but that's only because she's too kind to let her suffer, when really, all along she's resented her, given up her life to raise her unwillingly, prayed every single day of the last twenty-nine years for the daughter she never wanted to disappear.

She's scared that her mum never wanted her at all, not really.

That all these years, what she really wanted was her first baby back.

And she couldn't have him, so she settled for Chloe.

But now her mum has Dom in her life again, stronger and emotionally independent of her and free of anxiety and terrible coping mechanisms like she, her mother's pathetic excuse for a daughter, seems cursed to never be.

Where does that leave her?

Chloe shudders, slams shut the drivers' side door of her car, steps out into the gentle chill of Glasgow dusk.

She fought so hard to stop thinking of herself like this, when she was fourteen, and she hates that she's fallen to pieces over it all again.

And she doesn't want to blame Dom for it.

Chloe really, really doesn't.

It's just so hard not to see it all as so hopelessly intertwined.

She shouldn't be doing this, Chloe reminds herself, opens and closes the mechanism on her car key in her hand.

That's what Emina had told her.

Emina had pleaded with her, in fact, to pack up her things and walk away, not to torture herself like this.

She won't be able to un-see it.

That's what Emina told her, and Chloe already knows she's right.

It's only been a few hours, but already she knows she'll never get the police drawing from the newspaper out of her head.

She's a monster.

How can her mum even bear to look at her?

Slowly, shakily, Chloe makes her way across the pub car park.

She doesn't want to do this.

She doesn't want to do this any more than she wanted to step into the Glasgow City Archives this morning, any more than she wanted to look at that awful newspaper article.

She doesn't want to know, and yet she can't seem to stop torturing herself.

Trembling, she walks past the pub, arms wrapped around herself, defensive, exposed, feels horribly vulnerable and she can't explain why.

She has no right to feel vulnerable, Chloe tells herself furiously as she crosses past the pub, through to the other side of the car park and follows the wall until she finds the gate, pushes it open.

She knows where it is.

She couldn't quite imagine the layout of it all from the newspaper article- from her mother's account of the night she was raped and became pregnant with her, Chloe shudders, but she might as well call it what it is.

She'd had to look it all up on google maps, to be sure she was heading to the right place, to work out where she was going to park.

That's how she knows that there's a gate in the pub car park, over to the side, partially obscured by the bushes, but there.

That the gate in the Auldhouse Arms car park leads directly through to the back-alley that runs between the pub and the high street shops, the supermarket, the church, on the one side, and the Pollokshields council estate on the other where her mum grew up.

That the back-alley is just as the newspaper article describes it: dark, secluded, cut-off, overshadowed, view more or less obscured by garden fences and overhanging trees. That it's a long, narrow cut-through with no alternatives but to carry on walking, one end to the other, save the garden gates that must be kept locked, Chloe reasoned when she first saw it via google maps, a legacy of Victorian architecture; dead space, practically, useful for taking a shortcut across from the centre of Pollokshields to the very edge of the housing estate, but otherwise serving little purpose now the communal bread ovens and the coal sheds that once populated it are lost to history.

That for all its practically when it comes to avoiding the main roads, slipping through the backstreets into town and back home again, as her mum must have used it for to avoid the long way around and paying for a bus fare, it's every rapist's dream come true at night.

That's how Chloe knows this is the right place, beyond all doubt.

She saw it on google maps, and even the grainy, pixelated images, overly zoomed in on her phone screen, made it perfectly, horribly clear, how it must have all happened.

Because the alleyway runs past the back gardens of the houses on the one side, the back entrances, the yards, the bins, of the businesses on the other side.

Not the front entrances.

Late at night, there would have been no one to hear her mum scream when her father forced himself upon her mother, pinned her up against the Auldhouse Arm bins and raped her, left her with an abomination of a daughter she's been stuck with ever since.

Chloe's eyes fill with tears again.

God, she just can't seem to stop crying today.

She's a monster.

She's a monster by default because her father was a monster, because the way she was conceived was just so… so… so…

She's crying properly now, and Chloe curses herself, comes to a halt beside the gate.

She can't think like this, Emina had tried to tell her.

She's not her father.

Neither of them are.

They can't hold themselves accountable for their father's actions, have to learn to separate themselves from the violence and the horror and the trauma through which they were conceived, learn to let it go, to trust that their mothers don't love them any less because of it and stop looking over their shoulders, shut out the voices inside their heads trying to tell them that everyone knows just by looking at them, that they're scarred by it all, marked out, different, monsters.

They'll never be like their fathers.

Anyone, any thoughts, any voices in their heads reeking of self-doubt that try to tell them otherwise are to be shut out, ignored, dismissed, because they simply aren't true.

That's what Emina says.

Except it's different for Emina.

Chloe knows it is.

It's easy for Emina to believe they aren't their fathers, because Emina doesn't _need_to know what her own father looks like to know that she's nothing like him.

Emina looks so much like her mother they could practically be the same person.

How can Ange even stand to be around her? It doesn't make any sense, it just doesn't make any sense…

Slowly, surely, dusk is setting in over Glasgow now, Chloe realises as she pushes open the gate, crosses the threshold.

It's not dark yet. Far from it, out in the car park, at least.

But the moment she steps out into the alleyway, suddenly everything is overshadowed, buildings on the one side, trees, bushes, fences, garden sheds on the other obscuring the lingering sunlight.

It was the early hours of the morning, when it happened.

Chloe knows that much from the newspaper appeal.

There are streetlamps lining the alleyway, but they're scarce, overgrown, partially obscured by the trees in places.

There would have been hardly any light along here, when her mum was walking home that night.

Even if the back-garden trees hadn't been as overgrown as they are now, thirty years to the day later, it would have been horribly dark along here, in the middle of the night.

Seeing it now, early evening, Chloe can fully understand how her mum didn't see him coming.

Early evening… how is it already early evening?

It's like she's lost most of today. She can't remember… she remembers leaving the Glasgow City Archives, remembers driving back to the hotel, remembers phoning Emina, remembers curling up on the bathroom floor and sobbing and sobbing and sobbing, but beyond that…

She can't remember.

Why can't she remember?

She's going insane.

She's poisoned with the corrupted, evil DNA of her father, she's brought her poor mother nothing but pain and inconvenience and hurt and frustration and unhappiness, and now she's going insane, she's going insane…

This is where it happened, Chloe reminds herself.

Is this another form of her self-harming? It makes sense. It's as though she can't stop torturing herself with it all, because it doesn't seem to be enough for her to just be here; she's mentally running through the text from the newspaper article in her head to pinpoint the exact location (because she may have only discovered it this morning, but already she's read through it so many times that it seems to be burned into her mind word for word, that she worries that she'll never be able to shake free of it).

By the Auldhouse Arms bins.

That's where it happened.

By the bins, but not the side nearest to the gate.

The other side, pressed up against the wall, escape route blocked by the bins jutting out into the alleyway.

Nowhere to run.

It must have been.

It happened here.

This is where she was conceived.

How can her mum possibly not hate her?

It's dark.

It's dark, and it's dirty, and it smells awful, rotting waste and god only knows what else, bricks covered in a thick layer of grime and spider webs, wet leaves lining the pavement beneath her feet.

This is where she came from.

It's even worse than she imagined.

How does her mum not feel dirty, reminded of here, of how she had her, every time she looks at her?

How could she bear to keep her, why hasn't she cast her out long ago, rid herself of the daughter she never wanted?

She's vile. She's dirty- not just because of how she was conceived, but _where_, because she came from filth, from decay, from desecration.

She's worthless.

She's nothing.

She's a monster.

She doesn't deserve her mum.

She's crying again now.

She was crying before, admittedly, but now she just can't seem to stop, floodgates opened, distraught, can't stop, because her whole life is a lie.

For as long as she can remember, Chloe has always wanted to be like her mum.

But how can she be?

How can she possibly be anything like her mum when she came from _that_?

From _him_.

She's never going to be able to get him out of her head now, him, what he did to her mum, how he made her, is going to haunt her forever, she's never going to get it out of her head…

And then all of a sudden, there's a loud creaking behind her, and Chloe spins, alarmed, turns away from the bins, away from the alleyway.

A woman- about her grandmother's age, maybe a little older- stands in the doorway of the back entrance into the Auldhouse Arms- kitchen door, perhaps, easy access to the bins.

She stares.

"Nastassya?" the woman calls in a strong Glaswegian accent, frowns at Chloe, visibly confused. "Nastassya, is that you?"

She's so taken by surprise, so exhausted so hopelessly defeated and lacking all desire to fight on, so absorbed in hysterically sobbing, trying desperately to avoid descending into a panic attack, that Chloe just can't quite force herself to formulate a response.

"Nastassya?" the woman repeats. She approaches Chloe slowly, concern in her eyes, sympathy. "Nastassya? It is you, isn't it? Are you alright? What are you doing back in Glasgow? Nastassya? Why don't you come in, sweetheart, I'm due a break, we can…"

"I'm not…" Chloe trembles, voice shaking, breath coming in gasps between her tears. "I'm not, my name isn't…"

"Oh, I'm sorry!" the woman exclaims. "I'm sorry, I thought… you look just like someone I used to know, that's all, I was so sure you were…" she shakes her head. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," Chloe forces out adamantly. Suddenly, she's cold, panicky and she can't quite explain why, desperate to get away. "I'm fine, I was just…"

"Are you on your own?"

She forces herself to breathe, nods shakily. "I'm… I'm meeting someone… back in…"

Why does she feel so threatened all of a sudden?

"Why don't you come in for a drink?" the woman offers gently. "Yeah? On the house?"

"I couldn't…"

"Hey, I'm not going to leave you out here this upset on your own," the woman tells her gently. "Whether I know you or not. Okay? It's going to be getting dark out here soon… You're not from Glasgow, are you?" she realises. "North east, is it?"

"A-Aberdeen."

"I can hear it now. You won't know, then. It's… it's not a good idea to hang around out here by yourself, once it's dark," the woman explains. "There's… you know. Incidents, from time to time. It's not a good place to be on your own. Why don't you come in, calm down, I'll get you a drink and it might not seem so bad in half an hour. You'll see. Do you want to talk about it?" she ushers Chloe in through the back door, along the corridor away from the kitchens, nods silently as Chloe shakes her head. "Okay. Well, if you want a shoulder to cry on. Someone who doesn't know you, you know? I'm still due a break." Gently, she guides Chloe over to the bar, slips behind it, frowns. "You're not related to the Kovalenka family, are you? Only you look just like someone I used to know- Nastassya, Nastassya Kovalenka. Spitting image. You don't half look like her brother, either, come to that."

Chloe's blood runs cold.

"No," she whispers truthfully. "No, I… I've never heard of them. Sorry."

Her phone vibrates softly against the table, pulls her away from the destruction in her head, the urge to take herself off to the pub toilets and rummage around for the razor blade she's stored in a pill box in the bottom of her handbag, just when she needs it most.

_Mum: Love you sweetheart xxx _

Chloe's eyes fill with tears as she takes the message in.

It's as though her mum knows.

It's as though somehow, she knows, knows that her daughter needs her comfort and reassurance in this moment, knows she's struggling with the horrors of her conception all over again and she can't quite convince herself she's loved and wanted, knows she needs to reach out to her and remind her.

How does she know?

_Love you too Mum. Why? Xxx _Chloe taps out in response, takes another sip of her whisky.

_Umm, because you're my wonderful daughter and I wouldn't be without you for anything. Do I need another reason? Love you more my baby Xxx_

_Suppose not. Why are you telling me this now, though? Love you more xxx_

She knows, of course.

Chloe knows exactly why her mum has sent her that message, why now.

It's not completely out of character for her mum to send her a text like that unprompted, in all fairness.

But today… after the conversation they had this morning, after the awful revelation that it's today, her mum had arranged to go out with Fletch and Dom without _her_tonight because it's today and the explosion that followed, after the way her mum was on the phone back in the Glasgow City Archive Café, desperate for her to listen, to believe her…

That feels like a lifetime ago now.

She was… lighter, somehow, then, Chloe ponders sadly. Lighter, unburdened, hadn't seen all that she'll never be able to un-see, wasn't… damaged.

Evan was right, after all.

She's damaged goods.

She was damaged goods since the day she was conceived, thanks to the other half of her biology, and it runs in her so fundamentally, so deep, that it can't ever be fixed.

She's poison.

Tears form in her eyes again as her phone lights up with her mum's latest message.

_Because I miss you! Wish you were here too sweetheart. I'm going to give you a huge hug when I'm finally off work again okay? We haven't had enough mother daughter time lately, have we? Did you know there's a Wagamama opening in Holby next weekend? Love YOU more xxxxxxxxxx_

Maybe it isn't an act, Chloe allows herself to believe again; slowly hesitant, but just about there.

Maybe her mum really does mean it, after all.

_Miss you too. Shouldn't you be enjoying yourself with Dom and Fletch? I didn't! You're my mum, I love you more xxx_

_I can do that and text you too, can't I? I'll take you to Wagamama next weekend, then? My treat? I gave birth to you, I win this one. You're always going to be the most important thing in my life, okay? Always xxxxxxxxxxx_

Chloe hesitates.

_Promise me you mean it? Xxx _she texts back, heart pounding in her chest.

_Promise you I mean what? Xxx_

_Promise you love me? Xxx_

She feels sick, those next few moments, waiting for her mum's reply.

Even then, when her phone screen first lights up displaying the message, Chloe's a little scared to read it.

Just in case she's right, what if she's right…

Except she's not, Chloe realises, relief flooding through her as finally she allows herself to take in her mum's response.

_Love you more than anything else in the world, sweetheart. Promise. Okay? You're EVERYTHING. You alright? Do you want me to call you? Or I can come over? Xxx _

_I'm fine Mum, don't be silly_, she types back quickly- because her mum can't decide she's coming over, she panics, not when her mum doesn't have the faintest idea her daughter is in Glasgow digging up the past, not at home in Holby at all. _I'm fine. Just everything today, you know? But everything's fine now. Enjoy your night with Fletch and Dom, you don't need to worry about me xxx_

_Okay sweetheart. Let me know if you change your mind through, yeah? I'm not getting plastered tonight, if you want me to come over then I will. Or you can come and stay at mine if you want. Spare room's all yours. Love you loads my lovely girl. Always xxx_

Chloe's eyes fill with tears again.

She misses her.

It's only been a couple of days, but she misses her, unbearably.

_Love you too_, she texts back. _See you soon xxx_

There's a dull, throbbing pain around the cuts to her stomach that Chloe just can't quite shake.


	16. Chapter 16

**I'm so sorry, I know it's been ages! The good news is thanks to all the madness that erupted in the world this week, I should have a little more free time for the foreseeable future and I'm going to need a distraction, so hopefully I will get the next chapter up faster! **

**Please do let me know if you're still reading this. Your support means the world. **

**-IseultLaBelle x **

**Chapter 16**

**_Aberdeen, 31 March 1991_**

_"Come on then, Chloe. Come on, shall we see if we can work out where we're going?" Ange babbles mindlessly to her daughter, holds her tightly in her arms as they step off the bus. "Yeah? Are you going to help Mummy?"_

_"Alala."_

_"You are? Good girl. You're my brilliant little helper, aren't you? Hey? I don't know what I'd do without you sometimes. I mean, okay, so you're not much use practical help-wise just yet, are you? But you're great for moral support."_

_"Aaaaa." Chloe blinks up at her happily, reaches out to grab a handful of her hair. _

_"Hey, don't pull, please, Chloe. Good girl. Okay. Okay, Chloe," Ange glances around nervously, self-conscious, trying to get her bearings. "Okay, I think it must be around here somewhere. So we're going to sit down here on a bench for a minute, alright? Can you sit on Mummy's lap for a minute nicely while I work out what I'm supposed to be doing with the scarf? There you go. I don't think we need to do you, do we? You've got your hat, that'll do. And if they don't like it having bear ears, they'll just have to deal with it."_

_"Gagagaga."_

_"I know, it's a brilliant hat, isn't it? You've got Mummy's friend Seonaid to thank for that, haven't you, do you remember? She thought you'd make a cute polar bear. Which you definitely do. You're adorable, aren't you? Hey? Mummy thinks you are."_

_"Aaaara," says Chloe, curls into her chest._

_"You're welcome. Come on, then. So Mummy's got a vague idea of where she's going, we're going to have to work the rest out as we go along, okay? But we're looking for a white building with a blue dome. Yeah? You don't have a clue what I'm on about, do you, we haven't mastered colours yet. You can still give it a go, though, can't you? Yeah? White building with a blue dome."_

_"Uhh."_

_"Exactly." Ange cuddles Chloe to her chest protectively, suddenly on high alert as they set off in which she's more or less certain must be the right direction. _

_She's still not entirely sure this is a good idea. _

_It just feels… important, somehow. _

_Sometimes, anyway. _

_Sometimes, she's completely and utterly convinced that she owes it to Chloe to do these things. _

_And it doesn't matter that she's far too young to remember; in a way, that's almost the point. _

_Maybe right now, while Chloe is still a baby, is exactly the time she needs to be doing these things. _

_That way, she'll always be able to tell herself she made a token gesture effort, keep the option open, in a way. _

_But she'll never have to explain why to Chloe if she decides it isn't working out, not the right thing to do after all. _

_Is there even a right thing to do, in this situation? _

_Ange isn't sure. _

_She's not convinced she ever will be. _

_She's got time, Ange reminds herself, shifts Chloe in her arms. _

_She's got a good couple of years before her daughter starts noticing everyone else has a dad and she doesn't, plenty of time to decide how she wants to do this, how much she wants to tell her, if anything. _

_"I hoping you're just going to instinctively know what you're doing, once we get there," Ange warns Chloe now, balances her on her hip with one hand, pulls the map out of her handbag with the other, lost. "Because I'm not going to have a clue, sweetheart. Not a clue."_

They fall back into silence again, after the momentary interruption of a trip upstairs to phlebotomy, Ange, Dom and Peigi providing samples to be compared against Chloe's.

(It takes them a full fifteen minutes of gentle persuading and coaxing to finally drag Ange away from Chloe and up to Phlebotomy, adamant that there's no point, that she won't be a match anyway and they're making her leave her daughter for no reason whatsoever, that she'll never forgive them all if they force her up to phlebotomy on a completely pointless mission to give a blood sample that she already knows will no use to Chloe anyway and she goes downhill in the meantime, until finally they compromise and Fletch promises to stay with Chloe in her place, send someone up to tell her the moment anything changes.)

There's nothing anyone can say.

There's nothing that can be said or done to make any of this better, nothing to do but wait, and so that's exactly what they do.

Because it's all down to Chloe now, Dom realises with a sinking feeling in his heart, all of them back crammed into his half-sister's hospital room, watching her breathing, her sats, her vitals, her total lack of responsiveness.

Everything that can be is already being done, medically speaking, and now all they can do is wait.

Chloe is the one who has to fight this now.

That said, if only they could do this part for her, provide her with a donor match to buy her some time, they might just make her fight an awful lot easier.

They'll rush the bloodwork through, Serena had assured Ange.

She will personally ensure that the bloodwork is pushed to the top of the priority list and rushed through, that they'll have the results back within an hour, know if any of them are going to be a donor possibility for Chloe.

The trouble is, Dom wonders if Serena might just have made matters worse by telling Ange that, because now she knows.

Ange was going to work it out either way, of course. She's not stupid. This is practically her area of expertise, after all, and the combined AAU ED team treating Chloe seem only too aware of it, have avoided going into more detail than necessary around her.

It's perfectly clear that they're doing it because they know letting Ange in on all the specifics of Chloe's condition, her response or total lack of to the treatments they've tried her on so far, is only going to work her further and further into a panic.

Emphasising to Ange that their blood samples are being rushed through by phlebotomy is only going to convince her that this is all far, far more urgent than Serena would have her believe.

Chloe shouldn't be rejecting the prosthetic graft this quickly.

It's only been a few hours since she was brought out of surgery, she shouldn't be showing signs of rejection already, even with sepsis.

It's bad.

It's far, far worse than anyone wants to admit, come to that.

Deep down, Dom knows it is.

And almost as though to prove his point well and truly, Ange seems to have fallen apart again now they're back from phlebotomy.

Somehow, she'd seemed to manage to hold herself together upstairs, Dom realises, looking back now.

Perhaps it was the practical element, the fact it was something she could do to feel as though she was helping Chloe, a way of regaining a little control over the situation in her head.

(Because despite her insisting that she knew already, inexplicably so, maternal instinct or whatever it was telling her that her bloods were going to come back not a match for her daughter, that all of their bloods would, Dom saw clearly the slightest traces of hope in his birth mother's eyes, once they finally managed to convince her the world wouldn't end if she ventured upstairs for ten minutes, trusted Fletch to stay with Chloe.)

Now, however, back in Chloe's hospital side room, it's a very different story.

Whoever said that doctors make the worst patients didn't have it quite right, Dom decides, watching Ange now, whispering mindlessly to her daughter, pain and protectiveness etched across her face.

Doctors may well make the worst patients.

But they make far worse ITU relatives.

"Is there really nothing else they can do for her to try and reduce the edema?" Ange asks now to no one in particular, frustrated, examines Chloe's wrists as though she's her doctor, not her mother. "The dialysis doesn't seem to be doing anything, does it? She still looks like she's so…"

"I know. Alicia was talking about trying her with a drain, if she doesn't improve on the dialysis," Dom explains apologetically. "Before you got here. She said Chloe's a particularly bad case, because of… because of the severity of the sepsis."

"Do you think it's not just the edema?" Ange worries. "Because it could be lymphedema, too, couldn't it? Given… given everything else. I don't want them leaving her until she ends up with cellulitis, she's far too young to be having to deal with that…"

"We can ask Serena, when she comes back with your blood results," Peigi reminds her gently. "Chloe's fine for just now, Angel, she's okay to wait for…"

"She's not, though!" Ange snaps. "She must be in so much pain, just from the edema, or edema with lymphedema or whatever it is, she shouldn't still be this swollen. She could be in agony, for all we know, and she can't tell us, she can't…"

"They've got her on codeine, Ange. She's fine. The ED team are monitoring her vitals, they'll up her pain relief if they feel she needs it. You have to trust them," Fletch tries carefully. "I know it's hard. She's your daughter, of course you're going to worry. That's natural. But let the ED team worry about Chloe's pain relief, okay? We'll ask them about the edema, the next time someone comes to check on Chloe. But It's not your job to be worrying about her care. Alright? Not now. It's your job to be her mum. She's got Serena and Alicia to get her through this medically-speaking, this is their area of expertise. This is what they do. But you're the only one who can comfort her."

"If she even knows I'm here," Ange whispers faintly, one hand massaging Chloe's, the other hovering over the mouth as though she's going to be sick. "Do you know I'm here, Chloe? Hey? I know, my sweet girl. I know, it's alright. I'm not leaving you. I don't care if you know I'm here or not, I'm not leaving you. I'm staying right here. You're doing so, so well, sweetheart. You're going to be fine."

"She'll know you're here, Angel," Peigi tries to reassure her. "Even if she doesn't know consciously, she'll know. Instinctively, or whatever you want to call it. You remember what it was like when you had her. She was always so much calmer when you were there, wasn't she, she'd be a nightmare for them on the NICU overnight and then as soon as she had you back…"

"She's not a baby anymore though, Mum."

Dom decides this probably isn't the moment to point out that this fact doesn't seem to stop her treating Chloe like one.

"I know she isn't, mo ghràdh. I know. But you're still her mum," Peigi points out, crosses the room, squeezes Ange's shoulders. "She's still going to find it reassuring, knowing you're here. And she _will_know. God only knows how she knew you were there when she was on the neonatal unit, but she always did, didn't she? They only ever struggled to keep her stable when you weren't there, remember? She knew. You're her mum. It doesn't matter how old she is, you'll always be her mum."

"That's just it, though, isn't it?" Ange protests despairingly. "I've let her down. I'm her mum, for god's sake, she's supposed to be able to trust me to look after her. This hasn't come out of nowhere, Mum. Nobody just 'gets' sepsis, let alone severe sepsis. Not… not this kind of sepsis. She'll have had infected wounds for a week, at least, weeks, maybe even… god, I don't want to think about that. And I missed it. I'm her _mum_. I see her most days, even if it's just at work. I should have noticed. It's not like I haven't seen her self-harm before, is it, I know what signs to look for. Or I _should_know. I should have realised she wasn't coping, I should have known she'd have… she'd… resort to… this." She wipes at her eyes furiously now with one hand, clings onto her daughter with the other. "What with everything with Evan, after I… well, we all know what I did, don't we? I should have told her. I should have sat her down and told her properly, I should have done it years ago. I should never have left it until she refused to speak to me for weeks. I should have made sure she knew she could talk to me, I should have known she wasn't coping, I should have got her help well before it came to this…"

"You can't change any of that now, Angel. Chloe knows you love her," Peigi reminds her softly. "I know things have been a bit… difficult, between you two lately, but she does know you love her. I promise she does. Don't you, Chloe?" she tries, and it's only as his grandmother, birth grandmother, whatever she is to him, intervenes, that Dom realises she's the only one out of all of them who's still talking to Chloe as though she should be included in all this, as though she might be able to hear them, understand, might need more involvement than Ange's frantic attempts at reassuring her. "You know how much your mum loves you, don't you, mo ghràdh? Hey? I didn't see it either, Angel," she points out, closes her eyes for a moment, sighs. "I've had her with me the past few days, she only left on Sunday. I should have said something. I suspected she was self-harming- I had no idea how bad it was, but I suspected it. If you're responsible for this, I am too. I should have…"

"I still don't understand what she was doing in Glasgow." Ange turns Chloe's hand over in her own absentmindedly, inspects her fingers; swollen, purple, still. "I didn't… she told me she was just spending her week off at home, we had..." she glances between Fletch and Dom awkwardly now, ashamed, can't seem to bring herself to meet their eyes. "Oh Chloe, sweetheart, I'm sorry. We had a bit of a… not an argument. A misunderstanding. It was my fault, it was all my fault, I think I made her feel like… I don't know. Like I resent her, like I don't love her…" She trails off, voice breaking.

"She knows you love her," Fletch insists. "It was just a misunderstanding, Ange. That's all. It was my fault, I should have thought to… it was just a misunderstanding," he stammers again, suddenly aware of Peigi watching him, eagle-like, waiting for an explanation. "It was…"

"No, it was my fault," Ange interrupts. "I let her down, I made her think…" She shakes her head. "Chloe called me, she said she was… I'm trying to work out the timings of it all. She said she was at home, but I… She asked me if I was free that night, so she must have been at home, mustn't she? But then she told me she was spending her week off at home, but if she'd been in Glasgow before she came up to you, Mum…"

"I've got no idea how long she was there before she called me, Angel," Peigi admits. "I couldn't get much out of her. She just said she'd been staying with a friend in Glasgow, when she called me, and could she come up and see me before she drove home. She didn't tell me much about it, really, she… I don't know. I got the impression she might have had a falling out with whoever it was, or something, she really didn't want to talk about it. Whatever it was. But she told her flatmates she was staying with you?"

Ange nods. "She called me last Tuesday. She… she must have been in Glasgow, mustn't she? It doesn't make any sense, unless… I don't know. She asked me if I was free that evening, and I'd… it was just so unfortunate. I'd already made plans to go out with Fletch and Dom after work, and it was… we didn't mean to leave her out, Mum, don't look at me like that. That's not helping, don't you think I feel bad enough already? Did she say something?"

"She might have mentioned she was a bit upset and she didn't want to talk about it," Peigi admits. "She insisted you and her hadn't had a falling out but whenever I tried to bring it up…"

"We didn't fall out. Well, not exactly. It was just… it was all just such a mess. I'd… that day was…" Ange sighs, closes her eyes. "Thirty years to the day since she was conceived. There, we all know what I mean, there's no need to spell it out, is there? We all know. I'd been out with Dom and Fletch the night before- and Chloe was working, before you say anything, Mum, she didn't come because she was working late. And you know how she feels about nightclubs, anyway. I had… I don't know. It was there, it was in the back of my mind, it all got a bit much for me at one point, I told them why. Fletch thought it might be a nice idea to go out for dinner after work, the next day, to take my mind off it all a bit…"

"And that part was completely my fault," Fletch insists. "Completely. I… I mean, yes, it was just the three of us there for that conversation, about… about why you were upset. But I should have realised not inviting Chloe wasn't a good idea, given the circumstances, I should have given her the option. I was stupid, I… I don't know. I thought I was doing the right thing not inviting her, I guess. I shouldn't have done it, I should have given you the option, Ange. I just thought… I don't know. I thought having her there might… bring it all back for you, I guess. Remind you. I just wanted you to have a night away from it all, I didn't want you to be upset, and I thought… I didn't want to make you feel you couldn't…"

"_That's_what you were thinking?" Ange stares at him coldly now, fire in her eyes, hugs Chloe protectively. "You thought… I thought we didn't ask Chloe because it was just the three of us at the time. I didn't realise you had some kind of ulterior motive!"

"I didn't have an ulterior motive!" Fletch protests feebly. "I just… I thought… if you needed to talk about anything, I thought if Chloe wasn't there you'd be more able to…"

"_Chloe _has got absolutely nothing to with what happened to me!" Amge snaps, furious. "Nothing! Do you understand? I need you to get that into your head, Fletch! Because if you ever, ever imply that my daughter is somehow responsible for…"

"I didn't imply anything of the sort, Ange!"

"No, you didn't think! That's what you did, Fletch, you didn't think! And I swear to god, you dare make Chloe feel like she has something to be ashamed of again, I will string you up and cut your b…"

But she doesn't get a chance to finish.

As if in protest, Chloe's sats machine wails, flashes in warning, blood pressure dropping, heart rate beginning to climb alarmingly, out of control.

Ange bursts into tears.


	17. Chapter 17

**This chapter has kind of taken on a life of its own, I am very sorry for the length! I promise the next one will be shorter, which should mean you will get it faster. And thank you so much godxrd and writerofholby for taking the time to review the last chapter, your feedback is always so appreciated. **

**I hope you don't mind another flashback! **

**-IseultLaBelle x **

**Chapter 17**

**Aberdeen, October 1990**

She's woken by the shrill blaring of her alarm clock, rolls over, groans, and for a moment, it's as though she's a teenager again- well, properly so. As though her only responsibilities are getting to school on time and keeping on top of her homework, as though if she allows herself to turn the alarm off and sleep in for a while it will have consequences only for her, as though it's an option, perhaps not the most intelligent one if she wants to stay in her mum's good books and avoid another detention at school, but an option all the same.

Until she remembers.

Because her alarm clock is just a back-up, nowadays.

She turns it off every morning, sure, but Ange can't remember the last time she actually needed it to wake her up.

"Chloe?" Ange calls softly. She's sat bolt upright in moments, shuffles over to the edge of her bed, flips on the bedside lamp, reaches into Chloe's cot. "Chloe, sweetheart, are you still sleeping?"

Chloe lies still, fast asleep, tiny hands up against her face, covered with the socks Ange placed over them when she put her into her cot the night before, too tired and overwhelmed with homework to face trying to cut her fingernails.

Chloe always, always wakes her up before six am, without fail- and yes, she's five months old and still hasn't quite worked out how to cry properly, loudly, with any real volume, but Ange has never slept through her waking up before.

Did she miss her crying? Did Chloe wake up earlier, was it the glass of white she stole from her mum's fridge when she was finishing her homework? She hasn't drunk since she realised she was pregnant with Chloe… did it knock her out completely? Did she sleep through Chloe's feeble attempts at crying until she gave up on her and just went back to sleep without being fed… does it work like that? Would Chloe have given up and gone back to sleep or would she have just cried and cried until she finally got her attention? Or is she… fuck, is she…

Ange's blood runs cold.

"Chloe? Chloe?" Her scoops her baby up into her arms, cuddles her, finally able to breathe again as she takes in Chloe's chest rising and falling, her snuffles, gentle breathing. "Come on, sweetheart, are you going to wake up for me? Yeah? I need you to wake up so I can feed you before I leave for school, don't I? Hey? Chloe?"

She loves her so much.

She's tiny, light, sound asleep and still and adorable, smells of baby shampoo and the hand-wash laundry detergent Ange has had to start washing all her clothes with because everything else her mum has bought just seems to give her terrible eczema, feels far more fragile and waif-like than she ever remembers her first baby being, let alone at five months, but she's starting to accept that a little now, not let it bother her in quite the same way it did before.

Because Chloe isn't Darren.

She's Chloe.

She's her own person, smaller, more demanding, less self-assured- is that a strange thing to say about a baby? But it's true, somehow. Darren never clung to her like Chloe does, never wanted to be held constantly like Chloe does, didn't sleep as much, didn't cuddle into her quite like Chloe does, almost as though she needs her warmth as much as she needs her comfort, too small, too delicate, totally dependent on her.

Not that Darren wasn't totally dependent on her, of course. (Or on her own mum, rather, because god knows she was far too young and immature to be a mother herself the first time around, let him down hugely.)

But Chloe… it's different, somehow, with Chloe.

Maybe it's because of how she had her. Maybe it's because she was such a mess throughout her pregnancy with Chloe, because she feels so responsible for the time Chloe spent on the NICU at Glasgow Children's Hospital that sometimes she looks at her and she just wants to cry.

It's her fault Chloe is so small that she can still hold her with just one arm. It's her fault Chloe still hasn't made it onto the stupid baby growth charts, her fault that she isn't hitting the development milestones she's supposed to at five months, has barely managed the ones she was supposed to at three months. It's her fault Chloe doesn't cry, doesn't show even the faintest trace of interest in anything but her mother, her fault that the paediatricians have started using phrases like 'developmental delay' and 'too early to tell' at Chloe's medical appointments.

Most of them seem to have stopped trying to make her feel guilty now, admittedly.

It was relentless, at first, relentless all the while Chloe was on the neonatal unit at the Glasgow Children's Hospital, and Chloe's medical team had just started to back off a little there when they moved up to Aberdeen and it all started up again with the new paediatricians, the looks of disgust whenever she brought Chloe in for her check-ups and they read through her notes, the sly comments.

She already knows.

Ange knows that the drugs and the alcohol and the chain smoking she turned to after her rape and the lengths she went to in order to fund it all, sixteen and young and stupid and broken and hurting and no clue how else to channel it all have already done Chloe far too much apparent damage, that it could be even worse, that it won't be apparent until her daughter is older whether she's done her irreversible damage.

She's already ashamed- more ashamed than she's ever been over anything else before in her life. Ashamed that she didn't realise she was pregnant sooner, ashamed that even after her first pregnancy with Darren she still didn't notice the signs, didn't get her act together until she had already spent months on end poisoning Chloe's tiny system with toxins and chemicals, ashamed that when she was born she managed to…

Ange shudders.

She still hates thinking about it all.

It hurts too much.

And that's selfish in itself, she knows, because it's not about her.

It's about Chloe.

And that only makes her feel even worse when the medical team responsible for Chloe at Aberdeen General lecture her about the damage she's done to her baby, and her first instinct is to tell them to stop, because _she_can't bear it.

It's worse for Chloe.

Ange loves her with all her heart, and yet all of her actions before she was born point to the exact opposite.

She lays her daughter gently across her chest, holds onto her with one hand, pulls the socks off Chloe's hands with the other, and that's when she feels it.

Chloe's hands are cold, blue-tinged, horribly still.

"Chloe?" Ange shakes her gently, heart pounding, panic rising within her now. "Chloe? You going to wake up for me, baby girl? Yeah? Mummy needs you to wake up so she can stop worrying, okay? Please? Have you got a… oh, shit," she curses, presses the back of her hand against Chloe's forehead, now acutely of the heat radiating off of her. "Alright. Chloe? Chloe? Chloe, come on. Otherwise I'm going to have to leave you with Nana, and I really, really don't want to do that while you're like this. And you're not going to like that much either, are you? Hey? Come on, sweetheart."

Chloe blinks sleepily, stares up at her mother with tired, vacant eyes.

Then the coughing starts, and it freaks Ange out completely.

It's not as though she didn't know. She's been concentrating harder during Chloe's hospital appointments than she's ever concentrated on anything before in her life, because she's her baby. She's tiny and innocent and perfect and so completely dependent on her, her mother, to protect her, and Ange loves her so completely that she just can't bear the thought of letting her down, ever.

That's what it comes down to.

Ange knows, because it's been brought up at Chloe's medical appointments over and over again, that because she was premature, abnormally tiny, her daughter's immune system is immature, leaves her more susceptible to illness.

And she's tried.

She really has.

She's read all the leaflets the hospital has ever given her on premature babies over and over until she's practically memorised the information, taken all the precautions she can ever since she's had her out of hospital. She's so, so careful to make sure Chloe has enough blankets whenever she takes her out, doesn't take her to all the baby groups the health visitor keeps telling her about because she doesn't want her picking up viruses from all the other kids (or that's what she tells the health visitor, at least; if Ange is completely honest with herself, it has rather more to do with her own fear of being judged by all the other, actually-old-enough-to-be-mothers), screamed blue murder at her mum last month when she realised she was letting all her cold-infected teenage highland dancing students cuddle Chloe in between lessons.

Ultimately, though, she's failed.

That much is horribly obvious as Chloe coughs weakly, too tiny, too fragile, and it's all so, so wrong.

"It's okay," Ange soothes, rocks her gently. "It's okay, Chloe. It's okay. Have you been doing this all night?" she worries. "Because I didn't hear you. No, I didn't, my sweet girl. No, I didn't. You need to work out how to make more noise. I keep telling you that, don't I? Hey? You're supposed to be screaming the house down when you're upset, aren't you, sweetheart?"

Chloe coughs feebly, almost as though to prove her mother's point, whines, almost as though she's asking her what she's going to do about it.

"I know. I know, my sweet girl, I know. It's okay. It's okay, Chloe," Ange murmurs, hugs her tightly, wonders how on earth she's going to be able to leave her with her own mum all day while she's at school when she's like this, clearly ill and far too young to understand that it's not going to be like this forever. "It's okay. You're alright. I've got you, you're okay. I'm not going to let anything bad happen to you. I promise. You're fine. I love you," she whispers. "Mummy loves you so much, Chloe. So, so much. You're alright. You're far, far too little to have a fever though, aren't you? I think. I don't know. I don't know what I'm doing, Chloe," she confesses helplessly, clings onto her, doesn't know what else to do, lost. "I don't know what I'm supposed to do with you, sweetheart. I'm sorry. Can I give you calpol? That's basically baby paracetamol, isn't it? That probably works for bringing temperatures down. Are you old enough for calpol, though? I'm not sure if you have to be six months, and we're not quite there yet, are we? And is that something I have to knock a couple of months off your age for because you're so tiny?"

Is this bad? Ange worries.

She doesn't know.

She's been so caught up in worrying about Chloe's development, her growth, her alarming lack of appetite it's taken forever for her to overcome, her clinginess, her painfully quiet cries that sometimes just make it so horribly impossible to work out what it is she wants, about protecting her from getting ill in the first place, that stupidly, embarrassingly so, Ange has hardly given a moment's thought to what she's supposed to do with a five-month-old baby with a fever and a cough.

That, and of course, she had her first baby with her so briefly, looked after him properly, all by herself so rarely, that her first, failed attempt of being a mother is of no use to her whatsoever.

It's a virus, surely?

It must be just a virus.

Chloe's only five months old… four months, when she subtracts a month for Chloe being born too early, three if she subtracts another month to account for her being so tiny, so underdeveloped, only just graduated from behaving like a newborn at approaching six months.

Surely, she's only so limp and uncooperative because she's ill, because she's so little, because instinct is telling her to shut down and let her mum take care of her? Surely it's not serious, surely it's not…

Ange has never felt so overwhelmed, so out of her depth.

(Except the day she had Chloe, of course. Whenever she's feeling as though it's all too much, as though she can't do it, Ange reminds herself that nothing will ever be as awful as the day she had Chloe, not ever, ever again.)

Chloe coughs bitterly, blinks up at her, unimpressed.

"I know, sweetheart. I know you don't have a clue what I'm on about, but you probably still have more of an idea than Mummy does. Okay? I'm sorry. We'll add it to the list of things Mummy's got wrong. Should have looked into how old you have to be for it to be okay for you to have a fever and when I can give you calpol before you caught something off me, or Nana's students, or that woman on the bus the other day. I know. I know, Mummy's really rubbish at this, isn't she Chloe. I'm sorry. It's just… I never had this with your big brother," Ange admits quietly, strokes Chloe's cheek. "We'll ask Nana. Okay? We'll ask Nana when she's up, she'll know. I… I pretty much left her to do everything with your big brother anyway."

But all Chloe does is moan, still, fully uncooperative.

"I know. I know, Chloe, but I'm not going to do that with you, okay?" Ange tells her. "I promise. I'm never, ever going to do that with you, my lovely girl. Never, ever. Leaving you for school's enough of a struggle as it is, I miss you too much. Yes, I do. I miss you so, so much when I have to leave you. You're really not happy, are you?" she sighs. "I can't work out if you're so lethargic because you totally slept through your first feed or you're just really poorly. We're going to have to ask Nana, okay? Sorry. We're going to work this all out together, Chloe," she promises. "Yeah? I know I might be a bit rubbish compared to all the other mums who waited until they were actually legally an adult to have kids, but I'm going to get better. We haven't done this before, that's all. And I don't have a clue what I'm doing with you, so I'm having to make it all up as I go. But I love you. I love you so much, Chloe, I'm not too young for that. I couldn't possibly love you anymore than I already do. Chloe? Chloe, look at me, darling. Are you hungry? Hmm? You should be hungry, you weren't really that bothered about your last feed, were you? I'm sorry. I'm sorry, sweetheart, I should have realised last night, shouldn't I? I'm sorry, Chloe…."

But Chloe turns her head away stubbornly as Ange attempts to lift her into position, encourage her to latch on, fusses, makes it perfectly clear that she has absolutely no intention of doing what her mother wants her to.

"Come on," Ange pleads with her, heart sinking, and she knows it's bad now, just knows, maternal instinct kicking in but she just doesn't want to admit it. "Come on, Chloe. You haven't done this for ages, have you? Hey? I thought we'd cracked the eating thing. Mummy really needs you to feed now, sweetheart. You've got two hours, you know that, right? You've got two hours before Mummy has to leave for school, okay? You know that now, though, don't you? You're pretty good with routine. So, I really need you to eat for me now, Chloe? Please? While we've got time. Otherwise you're going to have to make do without me all day, aren't you, and we all know how much you hate that. You know it's the same stuff, don't you? The stuff Nana gives you out the bottles is exactly the same stuff, sweetheart. We aren't trying to trick you. We've been through this before, haven't we, and I'm still not convinced you believe me."

Chloe whimpers between her coughing, resists all her mother's attempts to reposition her, convince her that she does want to feed after all, and Ange's heart sinks.

She wouldn't be so worried if she could just get her to feed.

She's starting to panic now.

She's trying so, so hard not to, to tell herself that Chloe is fine for the moment, that she doesn't need to panic, that they can wait until her own mum is awake and can look at her, confirm that it's just a virus, that there's nothing to worry about.

Except what if there is? What if there's _everything_to worry about? What if her baby is seriously ill and she just hasn't worked it out yet, what if she's just too young and inexperienced to realise? What if…?

Ange shudders, holds Chloe tighter, rubs her back, tries to tell herself that any moment now she'll realise she is hungry after all and latch on, even though deep down, she knows she won't.

She can't imagine her life without Chloe now.

Yes, she was adamant before she had Chloe that she didn't want another baby until she was at least thirty, wasn't being a teen mum again, not for anything. And yes, balancing Chloe and her schoolwork is already proving a total nightmare and she's only two months in, is already silently panicking about how on earth she's going to manage next year when she has Advanced Highers to study for and a toddler who'll want constant entertaining. And Chloe is undeniably a never-ending source of worry for her; sometimes it feels as though she spends half her time at school and the other half in and out of Chloe's medical appointments, being told that she's underweight, still isn't even on the stupid growth chart in the baby book the paediatrician keeps referring her back to, let alone the curve, that it's too soon to know whether it's just one of those things or because she was so stupidly reckless throughout her pregnancy, because she…

Ange doesn't want to think about that.

But despite all of it, despite the struggle it's been trying to make friends at her new school, have some kind of social life alongside getting to grips with being a teen mum again and not making a total, shambolic mess of it this time, Ange wouldn't change Chloe for the world.

Because at the same time, Chloe is her everything.

Chloe is the reason she's managed to get her life back together, after… after the mess she was when she was raped. Chloe is the reason she went back to school to re-sit her Highers, her reason to be happy, her tiny little miracle baby she didn't know she needed but who changed her forever.

Everything she does is for Chloe, now.

To give Chloe the best life she possibly can, to make up for the totally, embarrassingly, horrifyingly shit start in life she gave her, to make absolutely sure that the circumstances of her coming into the world, her conception, make only the tiniest, most insignificant mark on her life, to make sure that she knows she's loved, wanted, that she's everything.

It physically hurts, seeing her like this.

It's like the NICU all over again.

"I know, Chloe," Ange sighs, as Chloe whines, irritant, frustrated at her mother's insistent attempts to feed her. "I know. You need fluids though. Okay? You're going to feel even worse if you don't try to eat, aren't you, you'll be dehydrated. That's probably a bit of a big word for you, isn't it? But you need the fluid, okay? Or I could give you water, but I think you'd hate that even more. Wouldn't you? Hey? You're fine, Chloe," she soothes. "You're fine. I've got you. Mummy's got you, you're fine. You need to eat, and then when Nana's up, we'll go and ask her what we can do with you, I promise. We might have to walk to the pharmacy and get you some calpol or something, I'm not sure what I can give you. Or… or Nana might have to take you, because Mummy has school today... oh, okay. Okay, sweetheart, it's okay," she tries as Chloe wails louder, flails half-heartedly, almost as though she knows.

_Is_she going to school today?

Ange knows she really, really should.

She has a Gaelic test this morning she probably should have worked harder for, a practical to do for biology, another one for chemistry, a maths lesson she's struggling to keep up with at the best of times, and really can't afford to miss any more work towards.

She should leave Chloe as normal, go into school, trust her own mum to take over.

Because her mum will look after her.

Ange knows she will.

In some ways, Chloe is probably better off with her grandmother than she is with her mother; Peigi actually knows what she's doing, is old enough to be a proper caregiver, isn't making it all up as she goes along and desperately hoping for the best.

Rationally, Ange knows Chloe will be absolutely fine with her mum, that there's nothing she can do for her that her own mum can't.

She knows that.

But how is she supposed to leave her baby when she's like this?

"I know. I know, Chloe, I know you're not happy. I know. I wouldn't be very happy if I were you, either. I think it's just…" she trails off, feels Chloe's forehead again. "I don't know. I don't know, sweetheart, I don't know," she admits, tries to decide if Chloe is burning up more alarmingly than she previously thought, if she was too half-asleep before, too engulfed by denial, if she's too young, too inexperienced, too immature, to be any use to her baby, didn't appreciate quite how serious it is. "I'm sorry, Chloe, Mummy's really useless at this. I know. I know, you deserve a mum who actually knows what she's doing, don't you? Hey? I know, it's not fair that you got stuck with me, is it? Is it, Chloe?"

Chloe blinks at her, eyes glazed over, spaced out, almost as though she can't quite focus on her mother, coughs shakily, weak, struggling, awful rasping noise as though she's struggling to breathe, and all of a sudden, Ange is back there.

It's dark.

It's dark, and it's cold, starting to rain, and she kneels, hunched over in pain but Ange isn't remotely bothered about her own pain, not now.

Not when the tiny baby she's caught in her arms- impossibly tiny, so fragile that it feels as though she's holding nothing in her arms because her newborn is weightless, feather-light, hardly there compared to all her memories of the first time she held Darren in the delivery room, thin, frail, skin and bones- is still so lifeless, doesn't cry like her first baby did, doesn't move, doesn't… doesn't breathe.

It, not she, because Ange hadn't even looked, at that point. She didn't even know Chloe was a girl, not then; she'd set her heart on calling her Chloe convinced that she was, mother's intuition or afraid that another boy would be too painful, remind her too much of Darren, or whatever it was.

All she knew was that there was hope.

That her baby was far, far too small, not breathing, but _looked _like a baby, at least, wasn't the miscarriage she'd been expecting the long, awful wait through her labour, alone, no medical advice, no interventions, no nothing.

That if she could just get her, him, it, whatever, breathing, if she could just cast her mind back to the CPR she learned in S3, then maybe, just maybe, everything might be okay.

And Chloe is still breathing, now. She might be rasping, breath catching in her throat and it's breaking Ange's heart, but she _is_breathing, isn't blue like she looked in the light of the streetlamps the night she was born, isn't desperate.

Not yet.

But still Ange can't stand it.

"Okay. Okay, we're going to go and get Nana," she tells Chloe, tries to keep her voice calm, level because the one thing her baby will pick up on is her panic, but she's so frantic now, so afraid, that she just can't manage it. "We're going to get Nana, alright? You're fine, sweetheart," she promises, hugs Chloe tightly as she pushes open her bedroom door, carries her along the landing, tries to avoid the fear building within her that she's just made her daughter a promise she might not be able to keep. "You're going to be fine, Chloe. Everything's going to be fine. Mum?" Ange calls, knocks on her own mum's bedroom door lightly. "Mum, are you awake? Mum?"

"Give me a minute, Angel!" her mum calls back wearily, half asleep.

A few moments pass before Peigi Godard finally opens her bedroom door, hair dishevelled, blinking hazily as she wraps her dressing gown around herself. "What is it?" she asks sleepily, takes in Ange standing in the doorway holding Chloe. "Oh Angel, I thought we agreed. You do everything for Chloe until you have to leave for school, I'm not getting involved…"

"There's something wrong with her, Mum!" Ange blurts out anxiously. "There's something wrong with her, she keeps coughing, she's burning up but her hands are freezing and she won't…"

As if on cue, all of a sudden Chloe is coughing again, shakes violently in her mother's arms with the effort- as violently as is possible from someone so small, at least.

"Well, get her upright then, Angel!" her own mum snaps. "You need to get her more upright so she can breathe better, there's no point holding her on her back like… oh, give her here." She lifts Chloe straight out of Ange's arms in one swift movement, almost before she can quite register what's happened, holds her against her shoulder, rubs her back. "Oh, Chloe, what are we going to do with you? Hey? I know, mo ghràdh. I know, it's not fair, is it? It's not fair. There you go, have you stopped? You're okay." She rocks Chloe gently, presses the back of her hand against Chloe's forehead. "Yep, she's definitely got a temperature, hasn't she? She's a bit little for the flu…"

"That's what I thought," Ange agrees frantically. "I thought… I don't know. It sounds really stupid, but I thought babies just didn't get the flu at her age, I thought that's why she doesn't get vaccinated until she's six months…"

"Doesn't mean she can't catch it. Her immune system's still immature, isn't it, they mentioned that at her last appointment at the hospital. Is she…"

"Her hands are freezing, Mum. Look, feel her hands. She's burning up but she keeps shivering, and I did the socks over her hands trick last night to stop her scratching her face again but her hands were still freezing when I got her up..."

"Alright. You do seem a bit lethargic, don't you?" Peigi worries, shifts Chloe gently in her arms. "You going to look at me, Chlo? Chloe?"

"That's what she keeps doing," Ange tells her, fidgets, tries to fight all the maternal instinct within her screaming out to take Chloe back, struggling to let her own mum hold her even though she knows she's being completely ridiculous. It's like… I don't know, she just seems really… spaced out? Can babies be spaced out? I don't know, I don't think she's… I think she normally responds to me more than this. And she won't feed, I've tried to get her to but she just won't, that's normally the first thing she wants from me when she wakes up. She's not interested. Not even that, she's… she's resisting. And I don't think she woke up for a feed in the night either, I mean… I'd remember, wouldn't I? I don't remember her waking me up in the night, she should be starving by now."

Peigi's expression clouds over, and she shifts Chloe in her arms, cuddles her, rubs her back as she enters into another coughing fit, peers over Chloe's head at Ange suspiciously. "Have you been keeping on top of your antivirals? And your antibiotics, from the…"

"I don't need to be taking either of those anymore," Ange reminds her, but she can see exactly where this is going, and she doesn't like it. "Can I have her back, Mum?"

"But did you keep taking them through to the end of the course?" Peigi asks her again, more urgency in her voice now as she tightens her grip on Chloe. "This is important, Angel…"

"Of course I did!" Ange protests. "They said on the NICU I could only breastfeed her if I kept on top of the medication, didn't they? What do you take me for, Mum? Can I _please_have her back now?"

"And you wouldn't lie to me about this? Because this is serious," her mum warns her, still holding onto Chloe as her coughing starts again, makes no move to hand her back. "I know, my darling. I know. It's alright, Chlo, it's alright. You're alright."

"Mum, let me take her…"

"Promise me there's absolutely no chance she's caught anything off you first," her mum insists. "Because you know as well as I do after last time, Angel, this is exactly what would be happening to Chloe if you'd given her chl…"

"I haven't given her anything!" Ange argues, heart racing now, panic building within her that her mum just isn't going to believe her, that she's already made up her mind she's a useless mother, selfish, doesn't have Chloe's best interests at heart at all and that couldn't be further from the truth, it really couldn't, but if her mum is adamant she is then god only knows how she's going to convince her otherwise, not when she's taking her role as protective grandmother to new extremes with Chloe. "Think about it, Mum. When would I even have time for… you know. _That_. I've got Chloe, haven't I? And I'm… I'm doing it all properly with Chloe. You know I am. I don't get enough time with her as it is, I wouldn't do that. I'm not interested in boys, Mum, I'm really, really not. I'm only interested in Chloe. And I would never, ever do anything to put her at risk. Ever. I can't… I don't ever want to go through all that with her again, I _can't_. I can't bear seeing her like this, it's just…it's bringing it all back. All of it. I can't see her in an incubator again. Alright? I can't. I wouldn't ever do anything that might lead to that happening again, because I can't take it. I love her too much. And yes, I know I said that about Darren. But that was different. I was too young then, but I'm not too young now. I wouldn't hurt her. I _couldn't_hurt her. I don't know what's wrong with her, but I know it's not… that. Okay? Whatever it is, I know it isn't that."

Her mum pauses for a moment, watches her closely, contemplating.

"Okay," she says at last. "Okay. I believe you, darling. Shall we give you back to Mummy, Chlo?" she suggests gently, lowers Chloe into Ange's arms. "There you go, mo ghràdh. There you go. Are you happier now you've got Mummy back? Yeah? You're still not very happy though, are you?"

Chloe snuffles, gasps a little between shaky breaths, curls into her mother's chest but makes no attempt at all to grab a handful of her hair like she normally would, still clearly not hungry, not remotely interested- and this is bad, Ange realises now, this is really, really bad.

It's as though she's given up, somehow.

It's difficult to explain.

Chloe is only five months, only three months if Ange does the corrected age thing the neonatal team at the Glasgow Children's Hospital kept insisting she should. She's still not particularly bothered about the toys they've bought her, isn't exactly the loudest and most animated of babies at the best of times, still in the near-constantly sleeping stage.

But this… this just feels different.

She knows there's something wrong.

She hadn't realised quite how well she knew her baby's usual behaviour patterns until now.

"Do you think her breathing's really shallow?" Ange worries. She presses Chloe against her side so tightly that she can feel her heart beating, just about the only thing capable of reassuring her.

"I don't know," Peigi admits. "I don't know. I think it's difficult to think clearly, isn't it? I think we should take her into A and E," she confesses now. "I don't want you to panic. Okay? I'm not telling you that to make you panic, Angel, I'm really not. I think she's alright..."

"She's not alright, Mum! Look at her! She's not alright, she's far too little to be coughing like this. Aren't you, Chloe?" Ange cuddles her tightly, tucks the crown of Chloe's head under her chin.

"I know there's something wrong with her," Peigi agrees. "I'm sorry. That didn't come out quite right. She's alright for now. That's all I mean. She's not in any danger, Angel, she'll be alright. It's probably just the flu, she's got all the symptoms…"

"A minute ago, you were saying she's got all the symptoms of…"

Her mum sighs. "I know. I know, and I'm sorry. I just… I had to be sure. I think it's just a virus, Angel. I really do. I think she'll be fine. But that's what they always say you do with babies if they have a fever and they won't eat. It's better to get her checked out now and be sure. What do you want to do?" She watches Ange carefully for a reaction, expression gentler, kinder, no difference now between her concern for Chloe and that for her own daughter. "Angel? It's up to you. I'm not in uni today, I can take her, if you need to get into school, or…"

Ange shakes her head firmly. "I'm taking her. I don't care what I miss at school, I'm taking her. I can't go in not knowing, I don't want to leave her…"

"Okay. Okay, I get that. I wouldn't have left you like this either, if it's any consolation. Give me ten minutes to get changed and I'll drive you to A and E with her. She'll be fine, Angel," her mum tells her gently. "She'll be fine. I promise."

"Chloe Godard?" the ED doctor calls across the paeds waiting area.

Rationally, Ange knows that they have rushed Chloe through.

The triage team who assessed Chloe when they arrived tried to tell her not to worry, that they were making her a priority purely because of her age, because of her medical history, not because they suspected there was anything seriously wrong- not that Ange could fully allow herself to believe it.

But she knows they've put Chloe through as a priority, that they can't have been waiting long.

And yet still it feels like an absolute lifetime.

"Do you want me to come with you?" her mum asks Ange as she scoops up her baby, transfers her from her lap to drape her over her shoulder, Chloe's hand batting against her cheek limply. "Angel? Or do you want me to…"

"Can you wait here? Sorry," Ange apologises. "It's just… you know what it's like. They won't take me seriously if you come in with me…"

"Alright. But if you need backup…"

"I'll come and get you," Ange promises. "We'll… well, it will happen, won't it? Come on, Chloe," she soothes, adjusts the hood on Chloe's polar bear coat combined with a onesie and a snowsuit… thing, fusses over her, already conscious of the stares she's getting from the rest of the parents in the waiting area as she carries her daughter towards the corridor.

It shouldn't bother her.

Chloe is hers- she knows that Chloe is hers, that she's a good mother.

It shouldn't matter what anyone else thinks.

Ange does know that.

It just isn't always that easy.

"So this is Chloe?" the ED doctor asks as she leads Ange through into a cubicle, frowns. "My name's Yvonne, I'm going to be looking after her today. Is Chloe's mum on her way? Only I'm going to need her permission to…"

'I am her mum." Ange doesn't mean for her response to sound quite as frosty and defensive as it comes out.

In all fairness, it probably isn't helping that her own mum has made her bring Chloe to A and E in her school uniform, insisted that she doesn't have to leave Chloe and go into school later if she doesn't want to, but the last thing they need is the ED staff deciding that she's skipping school.

"Oh… okay. Right." Yvonne the ED doctor frowns at her disapprovingly. "And how old are you?"

"I'm going to be eighteen in January. I'm her mum. I take her to all her routine appointments by myself, I'm her _mother_. I'm her only parent. I'm over sixteen, I'm practically an adult. The only permission you need to treat her is from me, and I wouldn't have brought her here if I didn't want you to help her, would I?" Ange glares defensively.

They fall silent for a moment, watch each other with looks of extreme suspicion.

"So you've brought her in with flu-like symptoms?" Yvonne asks at last, breaking the stalemate. "Do you want to take her coat off and put her down here for me?"

Ange nods, places Chloe down on the examination table, unzips her polar bear snowsuit, watches anxiously as Chloe blinks, stirs, still just as spaced out and poorly-looking as before. "Are you waking up, sweetheart? Hey? Chloe? She's been really lethargic," she explains, feels as though she's being judged, desperately needs to prove herself. "She's missed her last two feeds and she's usually pretty regular now… she… I've brought her notes. I thought it might be easier." Ange hands over the plastic folder, turns back to Chloe. "She was okay last night, but when I got her up this morning she was coughing, I think her temperature's…"

"Her temperature's a little high," Yvonne agrees, checking the thermometer reading with one hand, opening Chloe's notes with the other. "Okay. And she was premature…"

"She was born at just under thirty-six weeks. But she was tiny, at the Glasgow NICU- she was born in Glasgow- they said she was closer to what they would expect from a thirty-two weeker, developmentally, and even then, she was tiny…"

"Okay. And you know as she's a preemie she's more vulnerable when it comes to viruses…"

"I know. I've… I'm always careful…"

"And who looks after her while she's at school?"

"My mum. She doesn't ever go to a childminder, or anything, I really try to make sure she doesn't come into contact with too many people." Ange decides now isn't the moment to mention that Chloe spends a minimum of half an hour a day at Peigi's dance school, that she's not entirely convinced that the kids there aren't still allowed to pick her up whenever they feel like it. "I know her immune system's weak…"

"Would she normally be more responsive than this?"

"She's normally more alert. Much more alert. She's… she's not really trying to sit up or anything yet, she's… she's not really out of the newborn stage completely, to be honest. But she's not usually this… I don't know. Limp."

"Her breathing's okay. Heartrate's a little elevated…"

"She keeps coughing, though…"

"But her airway's fine. She's wheezing a little bit, isn't she, but her symptoms aren't severe enough to be worried about bronchiolitis. She hasn't got a cold?" Yvonne turns the pages of Chloe's notes, stops for a moment.

And then all of a sudden, she's eying Ange with the look of disgust and contempt she's so used to encountering from medical professionals responsible for her daughter now, and Ange's heart sinks.

"It says here that when Chloe was born she had neonatal her…"

"I didn't know," Ange protests weakly. "I… have you read that page in full? I didn't know I was pregnant, it was… the whole thing was a mess. I had no idea, if I'd known, I would have got myself tested, I would never have risked going into labour with her naturally if I'd known, I really wouldn't have…"

"She needed eight weeks of NICU intervention," Yvonne points out, must have realised she's only making Ange feel worse and clearly doesn't give a shit. "Are you still breastfeeding?"

She nods. "We gave up on the formula supplementing a couple of months ago, it just kept making her sick…"

"Okay. Chloe must have been very ill to need the dosage of antivirals they had her on in Glasgow…"

"So you think this is the same thing? Is that it?" Ange accuses. "Because the symptoms are the same as if she had a flu virus? Go on, you can say it. You think I gave her it once so obviously I didn't learn from that, I've given it to her again because I'm a stupid, irresponsible teenage mother…"

"I didn't say that…"

"You implied it. I know that isn't what's wrong with her. Alright? I know. I haven't risked exposing her to that. I wouldn't. So if that's all you've got to say, I'll take Chloe and we'll go and…"

"That's not what I said. I had to ask… Angel…"

"It's Ange. And you'd know that if you'd bothered to ask…"

"Alright," Yvonne sighs. "Alright, I'm sorry. Ange. I had to ask. It's in Chloe's medical history, it's significant, we have to…"

"I know. I get it. But do you not think I'm embarrassed enough about it as it is?" Ange protests. "And I know, I know what you're going to say. It's not about me, it's about Chloe. And I couldn't agree with that more. That's what I'm trying to say. I don't want Chloe being judged her whole life because I was such a crap mum at the start, I don't want it being assumed every time she's sick that it's another flare up from when her mother gave her…"

"Ange," says Yvonne gently. "It's almost certainly not that. Okay? I'm going to run some tests, just to be sure. But I'm almost certain this is just a virus. It just seems worse because of her age. We'll run some tests, we'll keep her in for a couple of hours for observation, just to be sure. But I really don't think you have anything to worry about. And for what it's worth," she tries, tone gentler now, calmer. "I think you're doing a brilliant job. I really do. Anyone can see you love her. I wouldn't tell you that if I didn't mean it."


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

"Can we _please_start working on the assumption that she's perfectly aware of what's being said around her, and try and be a bit more sensitive?" Ange glares at them all furiously from her position at Chloe's bedside, arms draped around her, smothering her, smiles her thanks at Alicia and the ED nursing team as they leave room after stabilising her daughter's resps. "That's twice this has happened now. I don't want her upset, I don't want anyone talking about things in front of her she might find distressing, nothing about… you know what about. It's hard enough getting her through a panic attack when she's conscious, let alone when she's like this."

"I'm sorry," Fletch confesses guiltily, quiet, glances down at the floor. "Honestly, Ange, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to..."

"She must be frightened enough." Ange tucks Chloe's hair behind her ears absentmindedly, fussing. "If she realises how ill she is, she'll be frightened enough already. And after everything that's happened today, everything _before_she collapsed…" she shudders. "I'm here now, sweetheart," she promises Chloe softly. "I'm here now. I'm not going to let anything happen to you now, I promise. You just rest. Let me worry about everything else. Her hair needs a good brush." She examines Chloe carefully now, almost as though she's seeing her for the first time since she was brought into the ITU. "God only knows what they did to it when they took it down for her, how did they manage to get it this matted? And her skin's so dry it looks like it's peeling off, and her lips are all cracked…"

"She's alright, Angel." Peigi addresses her own daughter now, but she makes eye contact with Dom instead; calming, sympathetic, almost as though she can read his mind, as though she _knows. _Knows how difficult it is for him to see his mother treating his half-sister like this when she barely seems to remember that he's even in the room from one moment to the next, knows in turn how guilty he feels just for having those thoughts, making it all about him when Chloe is quite rightly the one who needs their mother's attention.

"She's not alright, Mum!" Ange protests shakily, panic horribly evident in her voice again now, hugs Chloe against her tightly, protective, running on maternal instinct. "She's not alright, look at her…"

"I know," Peigi sighs gently. "I know, darling. I know. I know it hurts seeing her like this…"

"It's just…' Ange shakes her head helplessly. "I can't do anything else, Mum. Twenty-five years of medicine and I can't do anything to help her, I just feel so useless. The one thing I can do for her is…"

"I know. I know, I get it, Angel. Believe me, I get it. I would be exactly the same if it was you. Have you got her keys?" Peigi asks now. "I can drop by her place, bring back her hairbrush, moisturiser, stuff like that, if that would make you feel better?"

Ange smiles faintly. "You don't even know where she lives, Mum…"

"So? Dominic can show me, can't you?" Peigi suggests casually. "Or if he hasn't been over there before, I'm sure he knows her flatmates, we could both…"

"I've been to her flat before." He's strangely defensive now- and it makes no sense, Dom does know it makes no sense, not when it's a perfectly reasonable of his grandmother to not take for granted that he must know where his half-sister lives, given the state of their relationship, the hostilities, the jealousy and hard-feelings and everything else that's tied up in their mother's deception.

"Perfect, Dom could take me, then. You could write me a list of anything you think Chlo might want, Dom could take me over there. You want me to do that? I'm sure Chlo wouldn't mind me going into her room just to grab her some things, would you, Chlo?" Peigi tries, voice light, natural, as though there's truly no reason to think that Chloe can't hear her, isn't going to respond. "Yeah? You happy for me to go back to your place, and I'll just get some of your things so your mum can make you look even more beautiful than you already do and stop worrying herself silly?"

"I don't care how she looks, Mum, it's not about..."

"No, I know it isn't. You just want to do whatever you can, even if it's the small things," Peigi reasons. "You're her mum. That's _normal_. You're just going to have to let your mum fuss over you for a while, aren't you, Chlo? That's what happens when you scare us all like this, I'm afraid. But you happy for me to go and get you some things from your place, then? I'll take Dom, and then I'll come right back to see you and your mum afterwards? What do you think, shall I do that? Yeah?"

"Can you hold off, Mum?" Ange asks quietly, eyes plead with her, childlike, lost, frightened. "Can you hold off until they come back with the test results? Just in case…"

"Of course I can." Peigi smiles back at her daughter reassuringly with the same startling blue eyes- family eyes, Dom realises now, the same blue as his own eyes.

Except…

What colour are Chloe's eyes?

Bright blue, like his, like Ange's and Peigi's? Or…

He can't remember.

Why can't he remember?

"We aren't going to be a match for her," says Ange quietly, defeated. She leans over onto Chloe's intensive care bed now until she might as well have climbed in beside her, rests her head on the edge of Chloe's pillow, closes her eyes, visibly exhausted, older, somehow, weary of it all. "None of us are, I know that…"

"No, you don't," Peigi insists quietly, though the worried glances she alternates between Dom and Fletch now seem to suggest quite the opposite. "You can't possibly know that, Angel. Not until…"

"Not until we have the results back. I know." Ange closes her eyes, strokes Chloe's cheek, blinks, frowns for a moment, shudders, as she seems to realise that the unexpected texture beneath her fingertips is the elastic of her daughter's ventilator mask, hugs her tighter. "I just… I just know, okay? Call it mother's intuition, or whatever you want to, it doesn't matter. I know I'm right. This is my fault," she curses herself. "This is all my fault…"

"You can't blame yourself, Ange," Fletch insists gently. "You really can't. You couldn't have known she was…"

"No," Ange retorts faintly, strange edge to her voice that Dom can't quite place. "No, not that. Did I do the right thing, sweetheart?" she asks Chloe now, desperate, almost, lost. "Everything I've done since I realised I was pregnant has been for you, you know that, right? Everything. And if… if I've got things wrong, it's only because I love you. Because I love you so, so much and I've always just wanted to do the right thing by you, to protect you. I just… I've never wanted her to have to deal with it all, you know?" she whispers, seems to remember at last that it's not just her and Chloe, that they have an audience, her own mother and her boyfriend and her son she gave away. "We've never talked about it- about… you know. I'm not going there now, not while she's like this. I'm not freaking her out again. "There's nothing to say, is there, Chloe? We've never talked about it because there's nothing to say. She's _my_daughter. She's _mine_, and she's _Scottish_, and that's all there is to it. She came from me, the rest of it's irrelevant. That's what we've always said, isn't it, sweetheart?"

"And that's still true," Peigi tells her firmly. "Whether Chlo's a close enough genetic match for us to donate tissue to her doesn't change that, does it? She's still yours, Angel. It's half her DNA, that's all. She's just as much you from a genetic point of view as she's not, you know that. And you raised her. You're all she's ever known, you, your family. Us. Who she's taken after with all the complicated biology stuff can't change any of that."

"I know that, Mum. I know that. But I can't… I just hate this," Ange whispers. She laces Chloe's fingers through her own, holds on tight, helpless, desperate. "I hate that just being mine might not be enough to help her, you know? It's… It's_complicated_, because of how I had her, and it's so, so unfair on Chloe. That's what I hate. She's got nothing to do with anyone else, we're her family. She doesn't need anyone else, does she? She's got us. But we might not be the right genetic mix to make a difference for her, and I hate that, I _hate_it. It just seems so cruel. After everything else she's had to go through because of..." she trails off, shudders. "I just… she doesn't deserve this, Mum. I mean, she doesn't deserve any of it, does she? But this… the whole tissue donor thing's just brought it all back up again for me, you know? She's just so innocent, she's precious, she deserves so much better. She deserves a mum_and_a dad who love her, she deserves a proper dad, she doesn't deserve all the emotional crap she's had to deal with because of the start in life she had…"

"They both do," says Peigi, so faintly it's almost a whisper, gently reaches out for Dom's hand.

She squeezes in understanding, soothing, meets Dom's eyes for just the briefest of moments.

She knows.

She gets it.

His birth grandmother gets it, and she doesn't think he's the worst person in the world for feeling th way he does, either.

"Hmm? That's what I said," replies Ange absentmindedly, can't seem to tear her eyes away from Chloe for even a moment. "I don't know what I'd do without her, Mum. I really, really don't. When I think about the mess I was in before I had her…"

"And you got yourself out of that." Peigi's voice is firmer now, refuses to allow her daughter to argue with her. "And I know what you're going to say, Angel, I know you're going to say you got yourself out of it for Chloe. But _you_did it. Not Chloe. You did. And you're too strong to let yourself go back there again. I know you are. And Chlo needs you to be strong for her now more than ever, doesn't she? She needs her mum."

Ange just nods silently, and Dom meets Fletch's eyes from across the room, confused, questioning.

Judging by the confused look Fletch shoots him back, he doesn't know quite what Ange and her mother are referring to now, either.

"You know what Chlo really doesn't need, though?" Peigi suggests tentatively. "Angel? What she really doesn't need is you smothering her like that."

"I'm not smothering her! I'm hugging her!"

"You've practically climbed into the bed with her! Would you let your patients' parents do that?"

"If I thought it would help the patient, then yes!"

"And you wonder why you're told your methods are controversial!" Peigi rolls her eyes. "She's okay, Angel. She's okay. Aren't you, Chlo? You know we all love you very much, don't you, mo ghràdh? You're being so brave, darling. So, so brave. We just need you to keep being brave for a little while longer, okay? And then everything's going to be fine, you'll see. We're going to get you through this. You'll be back up visiting me in Aberdeen before you know it, Chlo, if you keep on being this brave for us. We need to do that more often, don't we? You coming up to stay with me, and me coming down to visit you, I mean. I miss you. And you need to come back up to Aberdeen to help me choose this rescue dog you've managed to convince me I need."

"Oh god, she hasn't, has she?" Ange rolls her eyes, sarcastic now, seems to forget, relax a little, just for a moment. "That doesn't sound like my darling daughter at all."

"It doesn't, does it? No, she's adamant. She's going to dog sit for me when I go on holiday, apparently. How she's going to manage that one logistically, I have no idea."

"And yet you still said yes?" Ange raises her eyebrows.

"Well, you know. I'm almost as good at saying no to Chloe as you are," Peigi teases. "That's baby of the family syndrome for you." She glances between Dom and Fletch now, just briefly, letting them in. "They're my only grandchildren, these two. You must know that already, do you, Dom? It's just me, your mum, you and Chlo. I mean, you've got more extended family through me and your granddad. But just the four of us otherwise. And I had Chlo a lot, when she was little…"

"Only while I was at school!" Ange pouts defensively. "And then just during term time, while I was at medical school. But I still had her every other weekend, more or less, except when…"

"Alright! You were seventeen, darling. You still had school and uni to finish and you needed childcare, there's nothing wrong with that," Peigi reminds her gently. "That's not what I was getting at in the slightest. All I mean is that I looked after her a lot for you, didn't I? She was my second baby I never expected to have, in a lot of ways, she used to come everywhere with me, when she wasn't with Angel. She just wasn't _my_baby, you know? But I think that's why we're still so close, even now. Either that, or she's just been working on me all this time so she can talk me into the rescue dog thing."

"I wouldn't put it past her." Ange smiles weakly now, fingertips brush over her daughter's cheek. "She still tries to talk me into getting another dog every now and then. We'd share it, apparently. I'm not sure Cam and Nicky- her flatmates- are totally on board with it, but she'll let it go for a couple of weeks and then she just brings it up again. What are we going to do with you, sweetheart?" she sighs. "Hey?"

"Chlo?" Peigi offers. "Chlo, will you keep holding on for us if I promise as soon as you're out of here and you're well enough, we'll get you up to Aberdeen and you can come and give me your expert opinion on rescue dogs at the SSPCA?"

"You can't adopt a puppy just to coax her out of a coma, Mum!"

"I can! She'd pretty much won me over on the adopting another dog front anyway, she just didn't know that," Peigi brushes her daughter's comment aside. "She can help me choose if it makes her happy. Can't you, Chlo? That seems like a pretty small price to pay for you to get better, darling. And I'll keep working on your mum for you, okay? Probably best not to tell her I said that, though."

Ange just rolls her eyes. "She's not persuading me to get another dog, Mum. And neither are you, for that matter. I made it quite clear to her when we adopted Wilbur, I was only doing the having a dog thing once, that was it. I'm not rescuing another one."

"That's what you think."

"I had no idea Chloe was so mad about dogs," Dom comments, lightly as he can manage, selfishly, perhaps, trying to assert himself, break his way back into the conversation, feel included, part of this family for definite.

Ange pulls a face, scorning, dismissive. "Have you met her?" she asks sarcastically.

"Well, Dom and Chlo have a lot of catching up to do," Peigi reasons lightly, keeping the peace. "Maybe she just hasn't got as far as the fact that she loves dogs more than she loves humans yet. But we'll do that, shall we, Chlo? Yeah? I'll hold fire on contacting the SSPCA for now, I'll wait until you can come back up to Aberdeen and…"

"I just don't understand what she was doing in Scotland last week," Ange interrupts suddenly, frantic again, closes her eyes. "I just… so she was with you until Sunday morning?"

Peigi nods. "She said she had to be back for work on Monday… yesterday. That feels like such a long time ago, now. I don't really understand it either, Angel, I should have questioned her more about what she'd been doing in Glasgow, but she seemed so… I don't know. Shaken. I just assumed that was because of everything that's been doing on with Evan, you know? I didn't like to push her."

"But when did she turn up at yours? I can ask Cam and Nicky when she left, we can…"

"She called me last Wednesday," Peigi tells her now. "She just said she was in Glasgow seeing some friends on her week off, I didn't manage to get much more out of her than that, really. She wouldn't tell me who- not anyone I'd know, she said…"

"You've had a text from someone called Emina, Ange," Dom remembers suddenly, rummages in his pocket for his birth mother's phone. "About Chloe. Sorry, it was… it was when I was waiting in the peace garden, I forgot to…"

"Oh for god's sake, and you didn't think it might be important? Give it here," Ange commands. "Give it to me now, Dominic. If it's about Chloe…"

"I've had other things on my mind!" Dom protests. "I'm sorry! You know, like my sister being in septic shock, and everything. It doesn't sound like she was in Glasgow with Chloe, but she sounds pretty worried about her, I think Chloe must have confided in her this week, or something." He hands over the phone, tries not to feel hurt at the speed at which Ange snatches it from his hand, unlocks the screen. "I can't make any sense of it…"

Ange falls silent for a moment, reads.

"No," she says at last. "No, I wouldn't expect you too… okay." She's visibly rattled now, glances between Chloe's still form and Peigi and back again. "I think I need to call Emina back, just in case it's… I think it's about… you know _what_, I need to be sure something hasn't happened that's upset her and she's…"

"Okay," Peigi tells her gently. "Okay, that's fine. You do what you have to do, Ange, we'll stay here with Chloe. Why don't you go and get some fresh air, darling, call her back outside, clear your head a bit? It might not be as bad as you…"

"I know it's bad, Mum. If she's been talking to Emina and she was upset, before all this, that has to be about…"

"You don't know that for definite, Angel…"

"Who's Emina?" Fletch interrupts, and it's only now that Dom appreciates his mother's boyfriend must feel even more out of his depth than he does.

"Just a friend of Chloe's," Peigi explains calmly. "Just a friend of Chloe's, Angel and Emina's mum met when she was a medical student volunteer in Slovenia. You go and phone her back, Angel, if you're worried. We can sit with Chlo. I won't let her, I promise, I can send Dom or Fletch down to get you if anything changes, can't I? You do whatever you need to do…"

It's at that moment though that the door swings open, Serena re-entering the room, iPad in hand.

"Sorry to keep you waiting," she tells them, expression halfway between a smile and a grimace, that awful look that Dom knows far too well as a surgeon.

It's not good.

Instinctively, he knows that.

And it's perfectly clear from the way Ange sits bolt-upright, pale, trembling again, clings onto Chloe's arm, that she knows it too.

"Phlebotomy have just sent your results down," Serena explains gently. "No match, I'm afraid, from all of you. We need… as I'm sure you know, but for Peigi's benefit, we can only give Chloe donor tissue from B negative type…"

Ange closes her eyes, tenses, tightens her grip on Chloe's arm. "I told you."

"You did. You did, but it was worth a try, wasn't it? But it's… it's a little more complicated than just matching according to blood types," Serena explains to Peigi. "If we're going to try Chloe with a donor graft, we don't just need a donor with a compatible blood type, we also need to consider something called HLA- that's human leukocyte antigen."

"You mean you need to match that up to her too?"

"Exactly. Chloe's… proving quite a complicated case," Serena admits. "Her blood type already narrows the options down considerably, donor-wise, but her HLA alleles are… unusual. That's perhaps the best way of putting it. It's not a complex that we see very often, she's just not compatible with you three. In some circumstances, we might try to go with a half HLA match- parents will always be a half match- but we can't give Chloe Ange's blood…"

"So it's… this HLA thing… it's genetic?" Peigi meets Ange's eyes cautiously.

"It's inherited fifty-fifty from both parents, yes. It's largely influenced by heritage, ethnicity, that's why if we can't establish a match from Chloe's maternal family…"

"I've already told you," Ange begins slowly, angry, voice trembling. "_That_isn't an option. Even if I did know how to contact that… that… _him. _I can't. I won't do that to Chloe."

"She's… struggling, on the prosthetic, Ange," Serena sighs. "I've seen her latest obs. You know as well as I do, symptoms of rejection at this stage aren't a good sign, and we can't take her back into theatre for an autologous, she's too unstable. We can't risk the infection spreading…"

"And you can't…" Ange is shaking properly now, and Dom has never seen her quite like this- not just defensive, but… scared, almost. "You can't give her tissue from her father's family. You can't. I'm not doing that to her."

"She's… there's… a backstory, with Chloe's father," Peigi explains hurriedly. "Chloe's… Chloe's father doesn't know about her, Angel made that decision for Chloe's safety, apart from anything…"

"I don't want to go into that now!" Ange protests. "Not here! Not in front of Chloe! I will _not_have Chloe finding out anything she doesn't already know like… like this…"

"And I understand that," Serena tries sympathetically. "I really do. But if we're going to help Chloe…"

"You think having a conversation about her… god, I can't even use that word," Ange hisses furiously, protective mode well and truly activated now. "The _sperm donor_. That's all he is. Was, I don't know. That's all he's ever going to be to her, there's no discussion to be had." She drapes her arm over Chloe protectively, collapses back down beside her, head beside hers on the hospital pillow, exhausted, fighting still, even though she's hardly anything left to give. "She's not going to be compatible with anyone from his family anyway, is she? If she's… if she's that incompatible with me, if…" her expression changes now, blank, forced, somehow, giving away absolutely nothing. "That means the HLA she's inherited on… the other side… isn't even remotely similar to my side. There'd be no point contacting that side even if it was an option, they'd have exactly the same compatibility problem we have with her…"

"Not necessarily," Serena sighs. "You know that. All we need is a relative with a similar mixed heritage, or even her father's heritage and Chloe's blood type, we could try for a half-match option on that side, or someone with the right mix on your side, come to that…"

Ange just shakes her head, pale, withdrawn. "There's no one. No one on my side… I don't… I don't know, but I don't need to, I know my side's Scottish all the way back. And even if I knew how, even if that was something I could practically do, you want me to contact the man who raped me, who I _know_is violent, who I _know_could harm her physically, psychologically, emotionally, even, if he knew about her, on the off-chance that he might have a relative with half his heritage and half something similar enough to mine to make their HLA compatible with Chloe's, and they might just so happen to be willing to come down to Holby and be a tissue donor for someone they've never met and didn't even know existed, someone whose mother claims their relative raped her? Because that's not happening." Her voice seems to grow louder and louder now, more and more hysterical. "I will _not_put my daughter in danger when the likelihood of it even helping her is so ridiculously minute it's practically impossible, I _won't_…"

"Alright. Alright, so that's not an option," Serena tries. "Alright. That's fine…"

"What about a non-relative match?" Fletch suggests now. "Surely that's worth…"

"We're not looking long-term here," Serena points out. "It's something we'd be looking into if it was a bone marrow match Chloe needed and we weren't within the realms of emergency medicine, of course it is. But given the urgency, yes, it's somewhat impractical to go down the matched donor route for a skin graft. If Chloe were to experience further complications from the septic shock, though, we might want to consider stem cell therapy to assist her immune response, reduce the inflammation, treat some of the organ damage, once she's a little more stable. In which case, I'm afraid we'd encounter the same issues with HLA compatibility we're having now, which would make the whole question of an HLA-matched donor rather more relevant…"

"It would make it still completely irrelevant because I know nothing about him," Ange insists, though her voice trembles, and she can't look any of them in the eyes now, can't even look at Chloe. "I know nothing about him except he's violent, and he's dangerous, and he gave me the best thing in my life. And if I… if I lose her because of this, then it's because of him, isn't it? I'll lose her because of him, because the HLA he gave her is totally incompatible with the HLA I did and we can't fix that for her, we can't…"

"Angel…" Peigi tries.

"She's the best thing that ever happened to me, Mum," Ange whispers, crying now, trying desperately hard to hold back her tears and failing well and truly. "She came out of the worst thing that ever happened to me, but she's the best. She really, truly is, and wouldn't change anything about her. But… the idea that… the idea that he could give her to me and then be the reason I lose her…"

"All the more reason to tell me anything you do know that might be helpful in treating Chloe," Serena points out gently. "I know this is hard. I get that. It's hard enough seeing your child like this without the emotions that come with… with being a single parent for those kinds of reasons," she decides upon at last. "I do understand this isn't easy."

"No," Ange agrees quietly. "No, it… it isn't. This is… god, this is worse than the eight weeks she was on the NICU…"

"Would I be right in assuming you've no idea of her medical history from her paternal side either?" Serena questions sympathetically. "Because if there's any history of cardiovascular conditions that might be relevant if she starts heading towards multi-organ failure, any kidney…"

"I don't know!" Ange protests loudly, irritant now. "I don't know, okay? This isn't exactly totally unchartered territory, you know. You don't think there have been other points in her life when I've wished I had even the basics of a medical history for her from that side? I don't _know_. I've got nothing. _Nothing_. You don't know how much that hurts? Knowing I can't help her? Knowing I might…"

"You knew this was going to be a problem though, didn't you?" Peigi asks quietly. "As soon as they started talking about this HLA thing, about blood types, you knew Chloe might not be compatible with any of us genetically speaking, or whatever you call it, I'm no doctor…"

"And do you know how I knew that?" Ange retorts angrily. "Because I was there, Mum! I met him, remember? That's kind of how it works, you know, when you're raped…"

"Angel, listen…"

"No, Mum, you listen! I thought… I thought this might be a problem because of that one night, okay! Just that one night. I don't know _anything_. I just know…" Ange hesitates, eyes Chloe again fearfully, and she's lying about _something_, Dom realises now; it's written all over her face. "I know the absolute bare minimum just because of that night, Mum, do I need to spell it out to you? I know he didn't look Scottish, I know he didn't sound Scottish, because I was there, I met him. Because he _raped_me, and that was enough involvement with him to gage that he wasn't Scottish. That he probably wasn't British, either, or… you get the idea, I'm not going to spell it out any more than that. It's never mattered, it doesn't change the fact at she's my daughter and not his, why is that so hard to understand? And I don't want to talk about this anymore, because Chloe's heart rate's rising again and I don't blame her. It upsets me enough talking about him, I can't even imagine how it must make Chloe feel. And we've only just managed to stabilise her again, so _please _stop asking me about him. She's my daughter, and I love her more than I can even explain, I'd do anything for her. Anything. You don't think I'd tell you if I knew anything that might help you treat her?"

"Alright," Serena tells her gently. "Alright. I understand. We're going to have to rule out the graft option, then. We'll keep an eye on the prosthetic Chloe has at the moment, but I think you need to prepare yourself for the possibility of us having to take her back into theatre to replace it sooner rather than later. But we'll keep monitoring her for now. We can up her corticosteroids a little if we need to, but I'd rather we wait and see how she responds over the next few hours. Alright? Someone will be round to check her obs again in the next half hour or so."

"Serena?" Ange asks at the last possible moment, calls her back just as she's about to leave the room. "Serena? I think… I think you should keep monitoring her thyroid function, too," she confesses quietly, guiltily, almost, nothing by way of an explanation.

Her eyes never leave Chloe's face.

**I'm so sorry for the wait! I'll be honest, I've been having a bit of a crisis over this story and I've nearly deleted it and started again about 5 times in writing this chapter. So if you're still enjoying this, it would be really lovely to hear from you, I feel like I don't know what I'm doing anymore! **

**Thank you as ever to Godxrd and anon for reviewing the last chapter. You are always so appreciated- but particularly through all the breakdowns I had trying to write this one! **

**-IseultLaBelle x**


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

"Hey. You didn't have to come over," Nicky greets them as she pulls open the front door to the flat, invites them inside. "I could have brought some things over for Chloe, I wouldn't have minded…"

Dom shrugs; numb, wordless, too tired and worried and guilt-ridden and jealous and rejected and all of the other copious emotions he can't seem to put into words to offer much in the way of conversation. "It's alright. It's alright, we… we needed to get out of the hospital for a bit, anyway. Or at least, I did. This is Peigi, she's…"

He trails off, awkward, all of a sudden, uncertain, freezes, almost a little panicked at the obstacle before him.

How is he supposed to introduce her?

He's hardly yet begun to make sense of how he fits into Ange's extended family, how those relationships might develop- how far Ange's extended family might be willing for those relationships to develop, come to that.

How should he...

"Peigi's Chloe's…" Dom begins, but Peigi cuts him off.

"I'm Dom and Chloe's grandmother," she tells Nicky firmly.

Except somehow, Dom has a feeling it's not just Nicky she's informing.

"Nicky. I'm one of Chloe's flatmates. I'm just so sorry," Nicky confesses, heartfelt, leads Dom and Peigi through into the hallway. "I honestly can't… I feel so responsible, I should have noticed, I mean, I spend all day with her at work and then we both come back here, I'm literally with her twenty-four/seven some weeks, if we're on the same shift pattern, and I still didn't…"

"You can't blame yourself. Not that you'd be the first, I think we've practically got a queue going for that," Peigi tells her gently. "The feeling guilty over Chloe queue. Believe me, I'm not far from the front of it myself. But that's not going to help any of us, is it? And it's certainly not going to help Chloe."

"How is she?" Nicky asks anxiously now. "Is she… Sorry. Sorry, you probably want to get straight back there, don't you, I'll just leave you to…"

"No, no, it's alright. You live with Chlo," Peigi surmises. "You must be just as worried as we are. She's…"

She glances to Dom now, clearly looking for him to step in on the basis that he understands the reality of the situation better than she does, that he'll be able to explain on Nicky's level- warn her, perhaps, he realises grimly.

They need to be prepared.

Both Nicky and Cam; they need to be prepared.

Chloe isn't going to be coming home any time soon.

"It's… it's…"

He can hardly bring himself to say it.

"It's... bad," Dom finally manages to force out. "It's bad. It's more advanced than they thought- the septic shock and the source of the infection, I mean. They gave her a prosthetic graft in theatre what, a few hours ago, but she's already starting to show signs of rejection, so… Ms Campbell wanted to consider a donor graft to try and buy some time, but we're not… there's no one who… that's not an option," he settles on at last. "That's not an option. They rushed the bloodwork through, none of us… we're not compatible. But she's not tolerating the prosthetic and she's too unstable to risk an autologous graft, and she's… she's not responding to the antibiotics as well as she should be. They've got her on the maximum they can give her already, and she's barely responding to that, so it's just…"

"It's just a waiting game," Nicky finishes quietly. "How's… her heart…"

"Her… her heart function's just about the only thing Ms Campbell isn't worried about," Dom admits shakily. "Her heart looks okay- or it did when we left, anyway. But I don't think she's going to be coming off the ventilator any time soon, her lungs are… they're bad. They can't get her blood pressure up. And her kidneys have completely shut down now, she went pretty much straight onto the dialysis the ED admitted her, but it's only just starting to reduce the edema."

"And she's malnourished," Nicky points out, voice laced with guilt. 'I don't think she's been eating properly for weeks, not since…" She glances across to Dom now, can't quite meet his eyes, seems to think better of what she'd been about to say. "Since Evan and his wholefoods regime moved in," she settles on at last. "That's what Cam and I thought it was at first, anyway, and then after she ended it with him and the stalking started… I think that's when it got bad," she admits quietly. "We should have done something, why didn't we do something…"

"Because it's not that easy," Peigi tells her gently. "Believe me. I've been there too, I know. She hides it well. By the time you notice, it's been going on for so long that it's not so easy to claw her back subtly. But if you try to address it outright she'll just get all defensive and shut you out completely. And she's needed her friends lately, all things considered. What with…" she trails off abruptly, her turn to glance awkwardly at Dom now.

He's the elephant in the room, Dom realises.

Nicky and his birth grandmother both think he's a huge part of the reason Chloe's mental health has declined so rapidly, why physically she's in such bad shape now to fight off the sepsis.

They just don't want to spell it out in front of him.

"What with everything that's happened with Evan," Peigi finishes at last. "And she's spent the best part of the last year on bad terms with Angel, I don't think that's been helping, either. She needs her friends. I know you've been a huge support to her, these past few months, you and Cameron…"

"I don't know." Nicky glances down at the floor guiltily. "I don't know we've handled it all that well, really. No, we haven't, have we?" she decides. "We've let her down, we must have done. This wouldn't have happened, if we hadn't, if we'd supported her better. If… the self-harming… if only we'd realised Evan wasn't trying to stir shit when he told us she self-harmed, if only we'd noticed, got her help..."

"We could all say that, though," Peigi soothes. "All of us, I'm sure, could go back through the last few months and come up with a whole list of things we should have done before it came to this. I know I could. But that's not going to achieve anything now, is it? We can learn from this, yes, we can try and do better by her once she's through this, but we can't go back. And anyway," she insists, reaching for Nicky's hand now, gentle, reassuring. "I know you've been a brilliant friend, because Chloe told me, when she was up in Aberdeen with me last week. She said she doesn't know what she would have done without you," Peigi tells her. "You and Cameron both, and I don't doubt her for a second. I know what she's like, when she gets like this. You can't blame yourself- you mustn't. Alright?"

"Whose fault is it, then?" Nicky protests weakly. "Because it's not Chloe's, is it? We can't exactly blame Chloe, can we? It's not her fault she was feeling so… so… I can't even imagine, so… unhappy, so anxious, so _desperate_, that she felt she had no choice but to hurt herself, that she either didn't notice she had infected wounds that needed treatment or she knew and she just didn't care, what does that say about her mental state right now? It's not Chloe's fault, it's ours. Cam and I, we should have helped her, we should have… I don't know. We should have done something. It's our fault, it has to be our fault…"

"No, it's not," Dom agrees quietly, ashamed, eyes fixed firmly on the floor. "It's not your fault. It's mine…"

"Dominic…" Peigi sighs gently.

"But it is, though." His voice is numbed, now, Dom realises, and he's trying so, so hard to hold himself together, because somehow numb, devoid of emotion, closed off, seems like a better option than allowing himself to break down over a half-sister he barely knows, a half-sister who has made it perfectly clear she isn't even the slightest bit interested in a relationship with him.

It doesn't seem fair to lose control now.

Not in front of Peigi, who raised Chloe at least at one point, Nicky, who lives with her, works with her, must see more of her than anyone else, now Cam has moved to AAU.

She's his half-sister.

Chloe's his half-sister, and he's known her barely six months, known they're half-siblings even less, and they've spent the entire time they've both known on pretty much the worst terms possible, thanks to Chloe and her sulk for Scotland routine.

He doesn't deserve to be as upset over all this as Peigi and Nicky are.

"It is my fault," Dom continues, utterly insistent now, convinced of it. "Of course it's my fault, how could it not be? She was fine until she found out about me, and after that…"

"We don't know that, Dominic," Peigi tries to point out. "We can't possibly know that. Chloe's… this isn't the first time Chloe's gone through something like this," she sighs. "It's never been this bad before, admittedly, but it's far from out of character for her, unfortunately. Ange and I have been here goodness only knows how many times before now. Every time we tell ourselves we'll spot it earlier if her anxiety flares up again, or if she starts back with the self-harming, and every single time we don't catch on until it's been going on for far, far too long. I think we do get better at noticing the signs; I'd like to think we do, anyway. The trouble is, Chlo gets better at hiding it, too. It's like being locked in some sort of horrendously high-stakes strategy game with her, half the time. You might think Chloe was fine mental-health wise until Angel told her about you, Dominic, but you can't possibly know that…"

"I do, though. Ange said so herself, she told me." His heart is racing faster and faster now out of nowhere, guilt spiralling out of control as he thinks back to that day in Pulses, his birth mother's confession regarding his little sister; brief, fleeting, hardly a glimpse into the last twenty-nine years at all, and yet at the same time perfectly enlightening enough. "Ange told me she was worried about her mental state, right after Chloe found out about me. She told me she was worried Chloe was going to go back to self-harming, she saw it then. Don't tell me that was a coincidence…"

"Maybe not," Peigi admits reluctantly. "You might be right. Maybe it's not a coincidence at all, maybe that's when it started. But we've got no way of knowing, Dominic. It could be that she was struggling for months before she knew about you and that… I don't know," she struggles, almost as though she's realised that this isn't going to be as perfect an alternative explanation as she'd thought it would be when she began, can't let Dom off the hook completely. "That could have sent her downhill a bit. I don't know. Or perhaps you're right, perhaps Chloe was fine before Angel told her, and that was what tipped her over the edge. But does it matter? We're not going know either way until Chlo comes round, and I… I think… I think we're a long way from that, aren't we?" she forces out at last. "A long way. So we don't know. We don't know, and either way, it's not your fault, Dominic. _You_haven't done anything wrong, alright? You didn't ask to be adopted, and you certainly didn't ask for Angel to not tell Chloe about you until it came to this. And… Chloe's mental health problems were well established long before all this," Peigi adds quietly, glances between Dom and Nicky now. "Believe me. None of this is a recent thing. You can't blame yourself, Dominic. None of you can. It's just one of those things, okay? It's an awful, awful situation, but it's no one's fault. Well, maybe we can pin some of it on the awful CAMHS counsellor Chloe saw first," Peigi ponders absentmindedly, and then she shakes herself, seems to realise that she might have said too much, unknowingly let them into a part of the past they know nothing about, a part that perhaps Chloe might not want them given a glimpse of, not like this. "But anyway. You get the point. I don't want you blaming yourself, alright? Either of you. This isn't your fault."

"It was finding out about me that sent Chloe running back to Evan though," Dom confesses quietly. "You can't deny that. She'd just broken up with him, the day she found out about me, she'd come back from Iceland early because it wasn't working out with Evan. And then he turned up as YAU locum that day," he remembers, heart sinking, suddenly feels even more sick with responsibility than he did before. "Chloe was helping Ange out in the YAU that day, and then Evan turned up on a locum shift, and it totally through her, she was livid. Chloe didn't want him there, Ange made that perfectly clear. And then Chloe stopped speaking to Ange she was so upset when she found out about me, and she was back with Evan by the next day and that's… that's when it all started," he shudders. "We all know how it played out from there, don't we? There's no point going over all that again. But she'd broken up with Evan. She'd broken up with him and she was adamant it was over, and that changed all of a sudden once she knew about me…"

"But that's still not your fault, Dom," Nicky insists. "Of course it isn't. You didn't ask for any of this to happen, how Ange…" she trails off awkwardly, glancing at Peigi nervously now.

"Oh, by all means, go ahead," Peigi shrugs. "If it were down to me, I would have told Chlo a _long _time ago. I think even Angel would hold her hands up to that one at this point. It might be best not to bring it up, though. But I'm completely with you, Nicky. Completely with you. None of this is your fault, Dominic, and I don't want you to think for a moment that it is. Alright? You didn't cause this. We can blame Evan, though, I don't know why I didn't think of that before. We can absolutely blame Evan. But we aren't blaming ourselves. Okay? Chloe wouldn't want you to blame yourselves, would she?"

"I don't know," Dom confessed quietly. "I don't… I'm not sure I know her well enough to…"

"She wouldn't," Peigi tells him firmly. "She wouldn't. I promise you, Dominic. However bad things have been between the two of you since she found out, Chloe wouldn't want you to be holding yourself responsible for her mental state, alright? I know she wouldn't. She likes you."

"Did she say that?"

"Of course she did. How else would I know?"

"But before she knew I'm her brother?"

"No. No, after. She told me this week, when she was staying with me," Peigi tells him, smiles faintly. "I know she can be… oh, I don't know how to put this diplomatically. I know Chlo can…"

'Sulk for Scotland?" Dom offers up helpfully, though even as he makes the suggestion, he feels rather sick.

What if that wasn't what Peigi was getting at?

What if that wasn't what she meant in the slightest, what if he's insulted her granddaughter in her eyes, unforgivable offense, what if he's blown it…

Peigi smiles, rolls her eyes. "You've been talking to Angel?"

"I…" Dom stammers anxiously. "I… I didn't mean anything by it!" he protests quickly, startled. "I didn't mean… I just… Ange told me that once and I… I just…"

"I wasn't trying to catch you out!" Peigi insists, mildly alarmed now. "I've heard her use that one before too, that's all. It's not a bad description. You're allowed to repeat it, I know she isn't perfect. None of us are. We don't have to start pretending Chlo is just because she's in a coma…"

Dom decides now isn't the moment to point out that Ange clearly didn't get that memo.

"It's not quite a coma Chloe's in," he points out instead. "She's not… she's not totally unconscious. She's pretty much completely unresponsive, but she's got some degree of awareness- her medical team are working on the basis that she does, anyway. But it looks like she can probably hear, doesn't it? Based on how she's been today. And I keep being a total idiot and saying shit I really shouldn't have in front of her…"

"Well, you're her brother," Peigi muses. "I think that's allowed. I used to fight with my brother and sister all the time, but I've always loved them deep down. Angel wouldn't know anything about that, Chloe's been the only child of an only child her whole life until now, to all intents and purposes. You're both still getting used to each other, you and Chlo. Maybe you've got to get some of the sibling rivalry you would have had when you were younger out of your systems now. That's fine. It's obvious you care about her. And I know Chloe cares about you too, because she told me as much. She knew. When she was staying with me last week, she knew she'd treated you unfairly. I think… I don't know," Peigi sighs. "By the looks of things, her head was too much of a mess for her to tell you that today. But she does care. I know she does. We just need to get her through this and then you two can make up properly. Right, speaking of which. Do you want to come and help us, Nicky?" she offers. "Angel wants us to bring some things back to the hospital for Chloe- what use it's going to be to her, I really don't know, but Angel's adamant, and I think it's probably best we humour her, isn't it? Do you think you could come and help us work out what to pack?"

"Sure," Nicky smiles faintly. "Sure, I can… I can do that."

**I am so, so sorry for the horrendous delay! It's not been the best couple of months but I promise I am back into the writing zone now and you will not have to wait so long next time! **

**I'm having to put this up really quickly and I will go back and reply to my DMs etc properly later, but thank you so, so much to everyone who took the time to review the last chapter, and my other stories recently. I was tearing my hair out a bit over this story last time I updated, and you've all made me feel so much better! **

**As ever, your thoughts/requests etc are always appreciated- please do review if you enjoyed (or if you didn't!). And you can also now follow me on instagram as chloeggodard if you would like! **

**-IseultLaBelle x **


	20. Chapter 20

**I'm throwing this up very quickly because I have to go out somewhere unexpectedly, but I seem to have gotten back into the flow with this story and writing in general, I promise you won't have to wait so long next time! **

**Reviews would be absolutely wonderful, please let me know if you're still reading this! Any preferences for the next flashback chapter also welcome- either on here on chloeggodard on instagram. **

**-IseultLaBelle x**

**Chapter 20**

"Oh, she's still got these!" Peigi remarks happily as Nicky pushes open Chloe's bedroom door. "I had no idea she still had these, never mind she still likes them enough to have them up. Those," she explains, gestures to the paintings hanging above Chloe's bed; woodland fox, portrait-style, anthropomorphised deer dressed as though it's stepped straight out of another century, colourful dodo strangely reminiscent of Alice in Wonderland. "I painted her those."

"You did?" Dom watches her curiously, strangely transfixed.

"Umm hmm. I did those when she was a baby," Peigi muses. "She needed something on her bedroom walls that wasn't Angel's god-awful hip hop posters. And then Chlo drew those herself when…" she trails off, and all of a sudden, her expression changes, clouds, as though she's afraid she's said too much, heading into dangerous territory. "When she was about sixteen, I think," she finishes at last, points to the ink sketches hung beside the nearest window. "Art therapy. And then Angel did the hare skipping through the field or whatever it's supposed to be for her when she was away doing her F2 rotation on Lewis."

"Cam's always called that one the lopsided hare that looks like a child did it," Nicky comments apologetically. "I mean, it definitely looks like an older child did it, not a…"

"Oh, I think that's a pretty perfect description. Art has never exactly been Angel's strong point. I never quite worked out whether Chlo insisted we frame it and put it on their bedroom wall because she wanted to make Angel happy, or she just missed her that terribly. I had no idea she still had these up, though."

"I think it's adorable." The words tumble out of Dom's mouth before he's quite had time to realise what he's just said. "That… that you did them for her, I mean. That's obviously why she's still got them up. They're special."

"I painted some for you, too," his birth grandmother tells him. "I'm sure I've still got them at home somewhere, or Angel will have, if I don't. We won't have thrown them out. You can have them. Only if you want them, of course, you don't have to…"

"No, I'd…" All of a sudden, he feels thoroughly overcome with emotion, chokes a little as he tries to force the words out, touched. "I'd like that. I'd like that a lot, it'd… That would be nice," he manages, self-conscious, now, doesn't quite dare show in front of his grandmother and his sister's flatmate just how overwhelmed he feels at such a simple offer.

Except it's not simple.

On the surface, maybe, but deep down, there's so much more to it than that.

It's the first time.

The first time that he's truly felt as though once upon a time, he was part of this family.

That once his grandmother, at least, maybe even his mother, looked at him, cared about him, the way she cares about Chloe.

That once their world might have revolved around him the way it so clearly revolves around Chloe now, that once he was one of them, part of their family unit, loved, wanted.

"Alright. I'll have a look when I get home, then," Peigi promises him gently. "I mean, I'm not sure when that's going to be, exactly." Her expression clouds now, pensive, troubled. "I'm not leaving Chlo like this. Or Angel, come to that. I don't think leaving either of them all the while Chlo's like this is a good idea, you've seen how badly Angel's is coping with it all. But I'll have a look for them when I do get home, okay? I think they must be in the attic somewhere. Shall we pack your sister some things, then?" she asks casually now, suddenly changing the subject as she glances around Chloe's bedroom apprehensively. "I'm half tempted to tidy up a bit for her, it's a tip in here, isn't it?"

"It's… a bit of a mess," Dom agrees quietly, awkward.

Peigi isn't wrong.

The bed is unmade, multiple blankets piled up in a jumbled mess around the duvet, pillows scattered, clothes strewn all over the floor haphazardly. The bedside table on one side is a mess of empty paracetamol blister packs, multivitamins, empty water glasses, the other of discarded tissues, precariously stacked books, lip balm, eye drops, plasters, lemsip, god only knows what else Dom can't identify. His sister appears to have forgotten the existence of the laundry basket behind her bedroom door completely, floor strewn with discarded clothes, messy piles, not entirely clear what's clean and what isn't, desk covered in random sheets of paper, medical journals, pens, abandoned mugs, utter chaos.

"I thought she stopped being this messy years ago," Peigi ponders absentmindedly. "I thought we managed to stamp it out of her… I don't know. Either Angel and I managed to stamp it out of her right before she started to struggle with her anxiety, or it was the anxiety that did it, I'm not sure. But I haven't seen her room like this since she was a teenager."

"She would have been feeling awful for days, though," Dom points out quietly, suddenly overcome with an undeniable urge to defend his little sister. "She would have… the cuts, from her… the self-harming," he finally manages to force out. "They would have been infected for a while, it would have built up to septic shock slowly. She would have collapsed earlier because of her blood pressure, most likely, it was so low when she collapsed she couldn't have kept herself conscious any longer. I'm amazed she managed to keep going as long as she did, to be honest. She would have been feeling ill for days, she must have felt horrendous when she came into work this morning…"

"It's a wonder she's managed to keep going for as long as she has," Peigi finishes for him. "God, it's only Tuesday, isn't it? She drove back down here from Aberdeen by herself on Sunday, I don't even want to think about what might have happened…her wounds would have been septic since long before Sunday?" She shudders now. "Thank god this didn't happen then. I don't even want to think about that. But no, I get what you mean. I think she's probably been feeling so ill and exhausted since she got back here, she hasn't had the energy. I don't think she's even unpacked, by the looks of things." She gestures to the suitcase left open on the floor beside the desk, half-emptied, a mess of unfolded clothes and caramel wafers, revolting-looking haggis crisps. "Oh well. She clearly didn't want all the food I sent her back with, did she? It looks like she went for the cereal bars and the rowies though."

"I don't think she did," Nicky confesses apologetically. "Rowies are the things that look like bread rolls but taste like croissants, right? She offloaded those on Cam and me for breakfast yesterday. She did have a couple of mouthfuls of hers, I think, but the rest of it went in the bin. I haven't seen the cereal bars, though, she might have eaten those."

"Oh well. Cereal bars are better than nothing," Peigi sighs. "Not that any of that's important now, is it? There's no point worrying about that until she comes round."

"Do you think…" Nicky trails off, glances down at the floor, expression a mixture of guilt and distress now. "Only… Cam and I were starting to wonder… we don't think she's been eating properly for weeks but it's hard to tell, she's been… kind of… shifty, about food. I mean… like I said, Cam and I thought something was wrong, we realised it wasn't just Evan's influence when she ended it with him. Do you think… she doesn't have a history of… only we wondered, all the signs of some kind of eating disorder seemed to be there…"

Peigi closes her eyes for a moment, contemplates. "She's done this before," she admits quietly. "She doesn't eat when she's anxious, it could be as simple as that. You don't… you didn't know about her mental health until all this came out today, did you?" she begins slowly, addresses Nicky now. "I know Angel wanted to tell you when Chlo moved in with you and Cameron, but I think she decided that might just be the final straw that won her the overbearing mother of the year award."

"We had no idea she'd self-harmed in the past," Nicky confirms. "If we'd known, if only we'd known… we would have looked out for her, we would have…"

"I know," Peigi tells her quietly. "I know you would have. You can't blame yourself. It's… I think it's probably something for Chloe to tell you when this is over, when she's ready. But she… she's always struggled when she's anxious. But she did go through a phase of it being more than that, when she was a teenager. It's probably not my place to say, I… I'm aware that Chlo's not been speaking to Angel because she's upset that she…" she trails off, glances between Dom and Nicky now, clearly unsure as to how much Chloe's flatmates know. "Anyway. I don't want to make the same mistake. This kind of thing should be for Chloe to tell you, not me. But yes. There was a point when there was more to it than she wouldn't eat because she was so anxious, let's just put it like that."

They fall into silence again.

"Would Evan have known that?" Nicky asks suddenly. "Would he have… he knew about her self-harming, I know that. But would he have known… only he had her on his health foods regime from the moment he moved in…"

They fall into silence again, simply taking it in.

"I don't know," Peigi admits at last. "I don't know. But she seems to have poured her heart out to him, from what I've been able to gather. It wouldn't surprise me if he did. But we're dealing with him," she says firmly now, almost as though she's trying to convince herself as much as she is Dom and Nicky. "We're dealing with him. Angel's in the process of getting the restraining order sorted, isn't she? And he's certainly not coming anywhere near her all the time she's on ITU, not with the hospital taking security as seriously as they are. We'll get it all sorted. He's not coming anywhere near her again."

"It's not going to be as simple as that though, is it?" Dom points out, tries to buy into her optimism but he just can't quite seem to manage it. "We can make sure he never comes near her again, but it's not as simple as that. He's clearly been filling her head with all kinds of bullshit about me, and Ange, and how Ange feels about her, and that's just the things we're definite about. It's not going to be that simple to undo all the damage he's done to her psychologically…"

"But she's got us, Dominic." Peigi reaches for his hand now, squeezes gently. "She's got us, and we're going to help her through this. She's going to be fine. Right, I'm trying to work out where we start." She glances around Chloe's room again, expression just a little overwhelmed. "I mean, normally I'd be hesitant, I wouldn't want her to think I was interfering, or anything. She's not been all that impressed when I've tidied up her room for her without asking in the past. But she's probably not even going to remember the state she left it in, is she, by the time she gets back here. And she's certainly not going to have the energy to do something about it straight away when we get her out of hospital, I wouldn't have thought. I might try and tidy it up for her a bit as we go along. Do you know where she might have a bag we can throw some things in for her, Nicky? And maybe you could go and clear anything she might want when she wakes up out the bathroom for her, too? I know, I know we're a long way off that," she agrees, seems to notice Nicky's expression now; the same mix of anxiety and sombre, pensive apology Dom adopts himself when having to prepare a patient's family for the worst. "I know. But Angel's adamant. I'm sure she knows too, she's not stupid. She must have seen this before with her own patients. But I think we're just going to have to humour her for now, if that helps her cope with it all. Dominic, do you want to just go around, gather up anything that needs binning and get rid of it?"

"I don't understand how you're still so calm," Dom admits, obliges, leaves Peigi to opening and closing Chloe's drawers, throwing clothes into the bag Nicky leaves out on the now-made bed, tidying away as much of the rest as she can find a home for, bundling discarded piles of clothes off the floor into the laundry basket, fussing parent mode. "After… after everything Serena said when she talked us through Chloe's results…"

"One of us needs to be," his grandmother tells him simply, finally locates Chloe's hairbrush in the chaos. "One of us needs to be calm, for Chlo's sake, and you've seen how Angel's coping with it all. Or isn't. She's always been like this, with Chloe," his grandmother confesses now. "I've never seen her fall apart like this in front of Chloe, admittedly, she'll usually hold it all together for Chloe, sort her out first, and then she'll fall to pieces when she's not around to witness it. But she's always been rubbish at coping with a crisis when it comes to Chloe. She did manage to hold herself together pretty well when Chloe was born, actually, but I think that was just because of… you know. How it all happened with Chloe, everything she went through with you. I think she thought we were all waiting for her to fail, with Chloe, I don't think she dared show any signs of weakness."

"But it wasn't like that with me?"

He needs to stop doing this, Dom curses himself, only after he's already asked and it's too late to take it back.

He needs to stop making everything about him.

"How do you mean?"

"Just… Ange said it was different with me. She said… I don't know. I can't articulate it."

"Try?" Peigi frowns, rearranges the pillows on Chloe's bed, pulls out a rather squashed, well-loved looking white fluffy… _something_from under the covers, contemplates for a moment, packs it into Chloe's bag before Dom can work out what it's supposed to be.

"Just… Ange said Chloe had a NICU stay, after she was born," Dom forces out at last, suddenly remembers Nicky as she reappears, lurking awkwardly in the doorway, cringes at just how much of a spoilt brat, how selfish, he's going to make himself appear in front of his sister's best friend but it's already too late to turn back, flood gates opened. "She said everything was different with Chloe to how it was with me, and believe me, I know NICU intervention is nothing to be jealous of, I wouldn't wish that on anyone. What you said earlier, about Chloe… I'm glad Ange didn't have to go through that twice. But she… I don't know. That's not what I mean. I just… every time we talk about it, it always seems like Chloe was the one she worried about, Chloe was the one she put all her energy into and… I don't know… I know that sounds awful… I'm not jealous," he adds quickly, guilt almost overwhelming now, feels like the worst person in the world. "I'm really not. Of course I'm not, that would be ridiculous. Not of Chloe for needing NICU intervention, anyway. It just… it hurts," he tells her shakily, flushes, ashamed. "It hurts that Ange keeps telling me that I was the easy baby, I wasn't a worry like Chloe was, I'm not the one she messed up with, she told me earlier. Whatever that means. But I was still the one she gave away. Not Chloe, me. And I know it's pathetic, but that really, really hurts."

Silently, Nicky slips out into the hallway, pulls the door to behind her.

Peigi watches him with sad, pensive eyes.

"Angel loved you," she says at last. "I promise you, Dominic. She loved you from the moment you were born, from _before_you were born. From the moment she knew about you, she loved you. She wanted to be your mum. You mustn't ever doubt that. She really did. We… we gave her all the options, with you," she admits, can't quite meet Dom's eyes now. "I know how that sounds- believe me, I'm not telling you this to upset you, alright? Bear with me. We made sure she understood there were options, when we realised she was pregnant with you, your granddad and me, and I did exactly the same when she had Chloe. We didn't want to influence her either way, we wanted it to be her decision. Angel was adamant that she wanted to be your mum, right from the start. She wanted you. She desperately wanted it to work out, she tried so, so hard. It broke her heart having to give you up, it wasn't a decision she made lightly. But she was just so, so young when she had you, Dominic. She'd only just turned fourteen, she couldn't even look after herself, let alone a baby. She tried so hard to make it work with you, it was just far too much for her. And that's not to say she neglected you- she absolutely didn't, I don't ever want you to think she did. That's not what happened, nothing bad like that. She just couldn't cope. There wasn't the support available for teen mothers back then that there is now, it was just a case of leaving school and getting on with it. She was either… this is a conversation you need to have with Angel, really, I'm not sure it's really my place to tell you this..."

"Please?" Dom begs her, because all of a sudden, this conversation, this glimpse into a part of his life he knows almost nothing about, that's been so, so hard to deal with, means more to him than he can even articulate, more than makes any rational sense. 'Please? I won't tell Ange you said anything…"

Peigi sighs. "Alright. She was just far, far too young to cope,' she confesses. "She loved you, she wanted it to work, but she was completely out of her depth. She'd want me to step in and do things with you if she wasn't confident, but I was working, then, I wasn't around during the day. I couldn't help her as much as she needed me to. And it… it was hard on her, Dominic. She was barely fourteen and all of a sudden, she was stuck in the house all day with you, she couldn't be a normal teenager. She took good care of you, but she'd always want me or your granddad to give you a bath, cut your nails, stuff like that, you know? I don't think she ever felt like she knew what she was doing with you, she was scared of hurting you with anything beyond the basics. But she was really struggling mentally, towards the end. She needed time to be with her friends, really, she needed to be in school, she needed some kind of structure beyond being stuck in the house looking after you, and we couldn't facilitate any of that. We tried, with school, we really did, but we couldn't have put you in childcare back then, you were too young. It wasn't like it is now. She was trying to keep up with schoolwork she had sent home while we came up with a better solution, but that only made it worse, I think. It was too much on top of looking after you, and I think she started to realise she was never going to get her standards, if things carried on the way they were, she was going to be stuck with no qualifications, no prospects, nothing. I think that scared her. It wasn't even about her, really, it scared her thinking about the life she was going to be able to give you. She was probably depressed, really. If we could have just got her back into school a couple of days a week, been able to give her more time with her friends, that might have made a difference, but there was just no support. And none of that would have changed the fact that she was far, far too young to take on a mothering role with you…"

"You made it work with Chloe." He's behaving like a sulky child now and he knows it, calling her out, but he just can't help himself. Earlier. Back at the hospital, you said you started your degree when Chloe was born so you could be Ange's childcare and she could go back to school…"

"Yes. Yes, I did," Peigi agrees gently. "Because things were completely different then. Your granddad wasn't around anymore… did you know that? Your granddad died about a year after you were born. I had his pension, I had more flexibility. I could move us up to Aberdeen and survive on your granddad's pensions, my student loan, what I could make working evenings and the child benefit, that was an option by the time Chloe came along. It wasn't, with you. And Angel was that bit more grown up, she was ready to be a mum, by the time she had Chloe. I could make working evenings and getting through university work because I was handing Chlo straight back over to Angel as soon as she got back in from school, she didn't need the level of involvement from me that she did with you. And there probably was an element of I needed to find a way to make it work with Chloe because I'd seen what giving you up did to Angel," she admits. "I won't lie to you about that. You mustn't think that Angel wanted to give you up, Dominic. Believe me, she didn't. It was a last resort, it was a decision she made because there just wasn't the support she needed to be able to be your mum at fourteen. Not back then. She couldn't… Your life changes overnight when you have a baby. She wanted to be old enough and mature enough to cope with that, but she just wasn't. She wasn't ready. She was stuck between doing the right thing for you and doing what she needed for her own mental state, really. That's what it came down to, she could cope with looking after you. Just not full time. She needed to be able to stay in school, get to be a normal teenager there, at least, get some qualifications _and_be a mum, and we couldn't make that happen with you like we could with Chloe. And I feel awful about that. Whether it would have been enough to make a difference, I don't know, maybe Angel still wouldn't have been able to cope. But I am sorry," she tells him sincerely now. "I really am. I wish we could have made it work, for you and for Angel. I wish we could have spared you both all that pain. But believe me. She didn't keep Chloe because she loved her more than she loved you. She really didn't. She kept Chloe and not you because she was ready to be a mum at seventeen. Just not at fourteen. Fourteen was just far, far too young."

"So… it was just the timing with Chloe?" Dom asks tentatively.

He almost can't allow himself to fully believe it.

"Just the timing," Peigi confirms. "She loves you just as much as she loves Chloe, Dominic. I promise. She always has. But she couldn't have been a mum at fourteen… I mean, she tried. But it wouldn't have done either of you any good to keep trying any longer than she did. She wasn't in a good place, by the end. You needed parents who were ready to be parents, Dominic, you needed stability. You needed parents who were old enough and mature enough to look after themselves_and_you at the same time, Angel was three years off of being ready for that."

"Chloe came along at literally the perfect time, then." Dom can't quite keep the bitter resentment out of his tone.

"Well, Chloe was probably the catalyst," Peigi tries to reason with him. "With Chloe… look, it really isn't my place to tell you any of that, okay? I shouldn't have said anything to you at all, really, you're going to have to talk to Angel about anything else. But I think Chloe… Angel wouldn't have been ready to be a mum at seventeen if she hadn't had to be, I don't think," she settles on at last. "She stepped up because she had to, for Chloe's sake- she did exactly the same with you. But she was ready to do it with Chlo. She was just that bit older… that was what made the difference. Listen… I know how it must look from your perspective," she sighs. "I totally get that. I know how Angel can be with Chloe, I'd understand if you… but that's no reflection on how much she loves each of you. I promise it isn't. I think she's always felt she had to compensate, with Chloe; for how she had her, I mean, for how difficult Chlo found it all to deal with when she told her. I think she's always felt that being hugely protective of her, going all out to try and show how much she loves her, all of that, she might be able to compensate for it all, you know? Make it easier for Chlo to cope with."

"I don't think it's worked," Dom ponders, doesn't realised he's uttered those words out loud until it's far too late. "Sorry. Sorry, I didn't mean to…"

"It's alright. It's alright, I think you've got a point, actually. We'll get there, Dominic," Peigi tells him sincerely. "You'll see. We'll get there eventually, we'll get through this together. All of us. It's just going to take time. Shall we go and thank Nicky for letting us in, then, and get back to your sister?"

Dom nods. "Thank you."

"You've got nothing to thank me for," Peigi insists, throws the washbag Nicky left behind into Chloe's bag, slings it onto her shoulder. "Nothing. You've had a lot to cope with, these last few months."

"Can I ask a question?"

"Of course you can. I can't promise I'm not going to tell you it's something you need to talk to Angel about, but you can ask, by all means."

"What on earth was that weird white thing you packed for her? The thing that looks like it's seen better days."

"Sheep," says Peigi simply, waves an unidentifiable fluffy body part at him out the top of her granddaughter's bag. "Your great grandparents are sheep farmers, did you know that? No? On the Isle of Skye. I'll take you up there one day."


End file.
